The Solution to all Problems
by SexyMary
Summary: "Death is the solution to all problems. No man, no problem." -Stalin. this was not your typical boy meets girl scenario
1. Prologue

Here's the prologue to the new story I'm working on. The first chapter should be up soon, it just needs to be proof read, but school is about to get crazy, so I'm not sure how often updates will be.

Enjoy! :)

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It didn't take a glamorous late night party with a stunning low-cut dress, killer heels, and free flowing alcohol. Instead it was practical flats, a modest pink and white sundress, pink lip gloss, an ice cream cone, and a well-timed step to the left.

He bumped into her, and her ice cream cone collided with his Armani suit. Suddenly she's embarrassed and blushing; sputtering apologies and grabbing napkins in an attempt to clean up the sticky ice cream. He grabs her wrists halting her frantic movements. She glances up, biting her lip in apprehension and meets his piercing gaze.

Hold.

One, one thousand.

Two, one thousand.

Three, one thousand.

His eyes have lost the look of annoyance and taken on a 'deer in the head lights' look and she's got him hooked. Suddenly he is the one who is apologizing, waving off his goons, and buying her another ice cream cone. They spend the rest of the afternoon walking down the avenue talking as if they were old friends.

It's the most natural thing in the world.

Boy meets Girl.

Boy falls, and Girl is beautiful and sweet; everything he never knew he needed. And just like that she is in. It was almost too easy.

A week later she has drained all his accounts and left him drowning in a pool of his own blood.

Piece of cake.

And just like always, SHIELD would promptly dispatch an agent in another vain attempt to pick up her trail and take her out of the game. She was counting on it.


	2. A Study in Pink

Well this sucked.

It had to be at least a hundred degrees outside, and God forbid they actually set him up some place that had air conditioning. It was almost Christmas; it wasn't supposed to be this hot. He was supposed to be drinking hot chocolate, starting snowball fights, and hazing the new recruits by making them go out into the snow to make snow angels in their underwear. Instead, he was on the ass end of the world chasing a ghost.

He really didn't see what the big deal was. He went off mission a teeny tiny bit. So what? Everything turned out fine in the end. There may have been a little bit more property damage than expected he'll admit; and he may have blown his cover a little premature; and then there was that nasty incident with the Russian mob boss (which was not his fault, by the way!); and there may have been a pretty blond who may or may not have been said mob boss's daughter…

Regardless, he was damn good at what he did and did not deserve this treatment. Benefits package be damned, he didn't get paid enough to put up with this shit.

While Fury had been doing his name justice in Clint's general direction, Agent Hill had interrupted to inform them of an incident in Melbourne that was possibly the work of the infamous Black Widow. He had been spirited away on his new assignment so fast his head was still spinning. He arrived in Melbourne before the body was even cold. Not that it helped much, because while the body was still warm, the trail was cold as ice.

He was slightly thrilled to use his fake Australian accent and impersonate a member of the Federal Police, but the excitement ended there.

The girl was untraceable. There wasn't any proof she was ever even there aside from the manner in which the guy was killed. He was some rich dirty scumbag who had his hand in drugs, arms dealing, and human trafficking.

From the outside, it looked like his lieutenants had turned on one another. His brother tied to invest a nonexistent company and got pinched by the Federal Police. One guy got caught trying to sell girls to one of the guys rivals. And the man himself was found naked in bed and bleeding out from, well…everywhere, courtesy of a particularly nasty poison engineered by some soviet scientist and delivered through the smear of pink lipstick on his face. The guy's _entire_ organization had been completely dismantled in just barely a week.

He had to admit he was impressed, but also really annoyed with how thorough she was. She left absolutely nothing for him to follow, but the brass wouldn't let him off the hook till he had "exhausted all possibilities" to their satisfaction of course.

So he found himself eating the Australian version of Teddy Grams and watching hours upon hours of surveillance tape from street cameras, ATM cameras, anything with in a ten mile radius that may have caught a glimpse of his ghost. To top off all of the suck, SHIELD didn't have a clear picture of what she looked like, so facial recognition software was useless and it meant he had to check out every red head he found.

What a shit pile of suck.

Two days in, he's sitting mindlessly in from of a computer fast forwarding through video footage absentmindedly stuffing not-teddy grams into his mouth.

Six days in, he's trying to see if any kangaroos appeared in the footage.

Ten days in, he's tallying up every rabbit he sees.

On day fourteen he decides to make up a drinking game. One sip for every redhead. Two for every bombshell redhead. Three sips for every butt ugly redhead. A shot for every rabbit caught on film being killed. And five shots for the actual Black Widow. Needless to say it was a terrible idea and he spent day fifteen in bed with the mother of all hangovers.

It was so mind numbingly boring that on day eighteen he almost misses it. A bright flash of pink bumping into none other than the overdressed bad guy who is now six feet under, outside an ice cream parlor. Her dress is so vibrant that everything in the background seems to fade to dull tan and grey. She is utterly stunning, and disarmingly sweet.

He was so shocked to actually see her he stared at open-mouthed at the screen for a couple of minutes. From there he easily tracked her progress as the guy replaced her ice cream and then spent the rest of the afternoon with her falling over himself to make her smile, ending the night at an obscenely expensive restaurant.

She was seemingly shy and sweet. Laughing at his jokes and letting him hold her hand, and her mark was entirely enamored with her. Hell, if Clint didn't know it was all an act, he would have been convinced he was watching a genuine love story. It was freaky how someone could act so convincingly sincere. She was a master puppeteer, pulling at the strings at just the right time.

He carefully tracked her movement though the week, establishing a timeline. With the exception of her forced introduction to her mark she skillfully blended in, turning her head just so and preventing cameras from getting a good look at her face. When entering a lobby where there were cameras watching the entrance, she would hide carefully behind her mark.

He found her coming out of the man's hotel the night he died. He'd missed it before because she had pulled a hood up over her head (and he'd been a little drunk at the time), but he could tell now by that confident stride and those pink high heels (_seriously, what's with all the pink?) _as she made her way to a waiting cab.

The cab dropped her off at a middle class apartment building and then she disappeared completely from all the footage.

He doubted he would find anything there to lead him to her, but he had to check it out any way. "Exhaust all possibilities." So far he'd gotten a hell of a lot further than anyone else who had been assigned to track her.

Who knows? Maybe he'd catch a lucky break, find her, and take her out. He'd love to see the look on Fury's face.

A flash of his fake badge got him into the apartment. He told the land lady he was checking up on a possible missing person's case. Big mistake. Now the lady was beside herself with worry over sweet little Amber Morgan, and wouldn't leave him be while he searched the pristine apartment.

"She only just moved in! And she's such a sweet girl, I can't imagine anyone would want to hurt her!" and so on and so forth. _Good Lord woman, could you lower you voice an octave?_

There really was nothing to find. He was about to cut his losses when it caught his eye.

Another spot of bright _pink_.

A post card was hung on the refrigerator, depicting a night life scene of people dancing with the night lit up all around them, and a bright pink kiss. "Want to dance?" it asked. "Greetings from Sao Paulo"

He had a bad feeling about this…

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FYI I don't really think Australia is the butt of the world. The idea to set it in Australia was sparked by all the Australians on Tumblr complaining about the heat, so I decided to put Clint there and make him miserable.

Anyways, hope you liked it! Don't forget to review, cause I've kinda become a review junkie.


	3. From a Distance

I really love this fandom; you all have such nice things to say thanks for the wonderful reviews, so here's another chapter!

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It would have been a lot quicker and easier if SHIELD had simply sent a quinjet to take him to Brazil, but no, they booked him on a 22 hour commercial flight in coach. Just to make him suffer he suspected.

This was a terrible idea.

Best case scenario, she was just messing with him and it was a wild goose chase. Worst case scenario, it was a trap. He was pretty sure it was the later.

His suspicions only seemed to be confirmed when he spotted her exiting the hotel that was in the background of the postcard. Strutting around in a beautiful sundress as if she owned the place and hadn't a care in the world. She wasn't even trying to hide. _What the hell?_

The woman was living it up in Brazil. She was posing as an American heiress, spending an obscene amount of money on her hotel, eating room service, getting spa treatments, and hitting the clubs every night like clockwork. Again…_what the hell?_

She was being too obvious for this not to be a trap. Clint very purposefully kept his distance. Observing from rooftops, and he had no intention of getting within a 100 meters of her. She was up to something, and he did not like it.

She was also meeting fairly regularly with a Ukrainian activist. The guy's name was Liev Kuryshev, who had been a royal pain in the ass to the corrupt officials in the Russian government and Russian mob. The guy was smart and had friends in high places that helped to keep him alive.

The Widow could easily take him out and make it look like a tragic accident without creating an international incident, which Clint was pretty certain she was there to do. She was probably offering the guy funding, getting close to learn his sources and then she'd send him to meet his maker.

The girl had almost a three week head start on him; she was probably all set up to her move and was just waiting with some nasty little surprise for the unfortunate SHIELD agent who would try to stop her, she was drawing it out to bring him into the open.

All the more reason to keep his distance if you ask him

After three days of doing his homework and observing her movements, he followed her to a night club and set up on a roof a couple of blocks away. It didn't take him long to find the perfect spot and set up shop. He couldn't use his bow for this because it didn't have the range, so he settled for a high powered rifle, settled in, and waited.

It would be a difficult shot, but he was the best sniper in the world. An impossible shot to take out the impossible to find ghost that haunted SHIELD. he'd love to see the looks on the council's faces.

Not to mention the fact that this woman was dangerous and Clint really didn't want to experience what she could do up close. The distance put him in control.

She was one of the last to leave the club after last call. Dressed in a blue and black dress that showcased her legs more than her chest, hair tousled from dancing, and smile on her face as she naturally joked and interacted with the people around her. They were attracted like flies to honey. Leiv was with her as well looking hopelessly in love.

He slowed his breathing. Corrected for wind. Found her in his scope, and tensed to pull the trigger. He had her easy.

Exhale and just…

_What the hell?_

She was just standing there. It was unnatural how long she'd stayed perfectly still.

Everyone else had gotten into the waiting cab, and Liev was looking at her in confusion. _What the hell?_

It was like she was zoned out, staring at the ground deep in thought. Clint paused, unwilling to pull the trigger for just a moment longer.

Finally she pulled herself out of her thoughts and turned to look _directly_ at Clint.

"Shit."

Startled, he couldn't help but stare back open mouthed at her though the scope for a moment before coming back to his senses. He swore she was leveling a challenge at him, daring him to pull the trigger.

Then her face contorted into a furious scowl that flashed across her features for just an instant. just as suddenly her pleasnt smile was black in place and she allowed herself to be loaded into the cab and was gone.

"Shit!"

She definitely knew he was there.

_Shit. Shit. Shit._

He hesitated. _Damnit!_ He hesitated, and she _knew_ he was there…

_Move! Move now you idiot!_ he mentally slapped himself.

_Get off the roof. Get off the roof. Get off the roof._

His limbs were stiff from sitting perfectly motionless for so long, and he had to force his body into action; disassembling the rifle and slinging the bag over his shoulder, he vamoosed and got the hell out of there.


	4. Coffee date

_You gotta be fucking kidding me!_

Clint had decided to take a break, as far away from the Widow's hotel as he could manage. After doubling back and using every trick he knew to make sure he wasn't followed, he ended up at a small café in the late afternoon, somewhere between rural and urban.

Here he was, in Sao Paulo completely alone and without back up; the brass refused to help him out at all. They wanted _confirmation_ that he had actually found the Black Widow. Considering they didn't have picture of her on file, how the _hell_ did they expect him to do that? He sure as hell was not going to get close enough to get a sample of her lethal cosmetic collection.

If he got that close to her he was certain he would lose any advantage he had over her at all. After last night, every unexpected noise had him twitching nervously.

Who knew what kind of back up she had. She could be baiting him while someone else took him out. Her scowl last night had probably been because someone had dropped the ball and missed their chance to take him out.

Hell, for all he knew this whole thing could be a ploy by the council to rid themselves of a sarcastic pain in the ass, though he trusted Fury enough to prevent that from ever happening.

He would have to try again tonight, this time at a closer range so he could use his bow. It was quieter and would not alert any backup to his immediate position.

Hell, he might even use an explosive arrow just to make sure she was down for good. Who knew what those freaky mad Russian scientists had put in her cocktail or could do with a dead body? With how crazy the world had become lately, it would not surprise him.

Only problem with that was that he would need to catch her while she was alone so no one else got caught in the explosion. It would be pointless to take her out just to have Liev go with her. Not to mention the brass would still want definitive proof that she really was the Widow.

Right. So the explosive arrow was out.

So he'd strike fast, tonight as she left the hotel to go dancing he would take her out then call in a clean-up team to clear out her room and spirit away the body. No more hesitations, get it done and get out. This time tomorrow he'd be sipping hot coco and laughing at the poor freezing recruits.

He didn't even care if the brass got their proof he just wanted it to be over. He'd had a foul nagging feeling in his gut since he left Melbourne. Something about this mission was off and it was making him more and more uneasy by the second.

Nothing like a friggin fantastic Brazilian cup of joe to sooth the nerves. He'd finish this cup and then go set up to finish the job. Hopefully she wouldn't change anything up, because he just didn't want to deal with that shit. Next shot he got he was going to take it.

"I hear that coffee comes from cat shit."

He froze. _Oh God no…please don't…_ he turned to find the very last person in the world he wanted to see. There she was, gorgeous red curls and pink smirk. Gone were the flirty sundresses and dainty sandals replaced by sturdy boots, skinny jeans, and a light blouse.

_Fuck_.

This wasn't going to end well.

Maybe he could play it off, pretend he was some clueless tourist?

"Actually, that's an Asian coffee, not Brazilian. But it's some expensive shit." He replied pushing back his anxiety and giving her his most charming smile.

"hmm"

The look on her face told him she wasn't buying what he was selling.

_Crap. Fuck. Shit. Damn._

"Wanna join me? I'll buy ya a drink." He tried again.

She simply raised an eye brow at him as if to say _Really? Your still gonna try this shit. Face it man, you're caught._

She gave him a candy sweet smile and he groaned internally.

She leaned in close to him, bringing those hazardous lips close to his ear. "You're not afraid of little old me are you?" she teased. "Care to escort a pretty girl on a walk in the warm sunshine?" He swallowed slowly, turning his head just enough to meet hre gaze and pulling slightly away from her perilously pink lips.

She pulled him out of his chair and threaded her arm through his, pulling him out the door.

She was close. _Way_ too fucking close.

He felt all the control he ever had over this mission quickly slipping away and his mind scrambled for a solution. He wasn't sure he could win in a fight against her. All she's have to do was get in a good bite or kiss and he'd be a goner.

The gun tucked into the pack of his pants and knife at his shin were both burning into his skin. She probably knew he had them, better to overestimate than underestimate. He'd have to be quick. Lucky he was quite the quick draw.

She was leading him slowly down the street as if they were a couple of lovers taking a leisurely stroll just to be in each other's company, leading him away from where there might be any interference. She pulled him into an ally as the sun began to set and then, without preamble, attacked.

Clint threw himself against the nearest wall to avoid her as she went on the offensive. She wasted no time launching herself at him again. He caught her leg, trapping it against his side and threw a punch at her face. She dodged to the left and grabbed his wrist. Throwing her weight back to add his momentum, she sent him tumbling over her and hard into his back. The move brought her down to the ground as well, but she was up quick as lightning.

Dodging her as she attempted to make his face a permanent part of the alley, he rolled to his feet drawing his gun on her. When confronted with a pistol staring her in the face, she hesitated, causing Clint to hesitate as well. _What kind of spy worth her salt hesitates like that? _He didn't have much time to dwell on it because in the next moment she was clearly over her hesitation and was trying to wrench the gun from him.

The ridiculousness that was this fight carried on till well after darkness had settled over them. Each move she made had him thinking there was something crucial he was missing and had him glancing around for a second attacker which never came.

He got her on the ground, pinning her hips with his body and drew his knife on her, caught in a struggle as he pushed the knife toward her throat and she pushed to keep it away. Her strength was steadily giving way. His arm was close enough to bite, but she didn't make a move for it like anyone in their right mind would.

_Alright, enough of this nonsense._ He'd had enough of this farce.

He pulled himself off of her and simply stood there staring at her; she gawked right back at him, befuddled. Clint had to admit, it was fucking hilarious to see that confused look on the fearsome Black Widow.

All the fight had gone out of her. But then, Clint thought, it seemed like it was gone before she even picked this fight. He brought the hilt of the knife down hard, knocking her out cold.

None of it made any sense.

He should not have won that fight. He was anything but humble, there was _no way in hell_ he beat her into submission.

Then suddenly it all seemed to clink into place. The effervescent pink, the postcard, the lavish spending and dancing, the scowl, the hesitation. He laughed almost manically when he figured it out.

"Lady, you're a real piece of work."


	5. Appearances pt1

She woke disoriented, with a raw aching in her head like she'd been hit by a bus. She groaned, rolling onto her side and shutting her eyes against the sharp light. Opening her eyes just enough to see though her lashes, she was met with the sight of SHIELD's operative sitting on the floor dismantling and cleaning a sniper rifle.

Great. This was just what she needed.

"You must be the worst assassin in the history of the profession."

He laughed at her without even looking up. "Says the woman who's made more amateur mistakes than a housewife playing spy over the last few weeks and is now handcuffed to a bed in a shitty motel at the mercy of an enemy operative." The sass in his tone made her want to break his nose. He met her gaze, raising his eyebrows at her and giving her the most egotistical fucking smile she'd ever laid eyes on. She could work with that.

"Who says they were mistakes?" she said cocking an eyebrow at him, she could still salvage this.

"You lookin to defect?" this might be too easy.

"Maybe…" she replied tentatively, putting just enough uncertainty, regret, and a touch of fear into her voice to be convincing. His eyes lit up at the prospect of bringing her in.

Hook.

"Man, can you imagine that look on my bosses face if I turned you and brought you in?" arrogant prick.

Line.

His face suddenly dropped and he rolled his eyes at her. "Yeah right." He scoffed at her, shoving his now assembled rifle into a duffle and moving it out of the way.

She always hated fishing analogies anyway.

He wasn't as dumb as he looked.

And_ God_ her head hurt!

Stifling a groan, she let her head fall back against the pillow and brought an arm up to cover her eyes as best she could while awkwardly handcuffed. Taking deep breaths to soothe the pain and she listened carefully as he moved around the room checking and packing his gear.

"You know, I'm starting to think this was some grand ploy to fake the death of the fearsome Black Widow. To what end, I don't know. It wouldn't be terribly difficult. It's not like we have a picture her. Leave a trail, hard enough not to be too obvious, but easy enough that any agent worth their salt could probably pick it up." He was thinking aloud, charming. "Then put a pretty red head in place. Give her the Widow's poison for a positive ID, well…it's at least enough to satisfy some people. Give her an assignment to keep her busy. Then bang. The world thinks she dead."

She almost wanted to laugh at him, he sounded like he thought he had it all figured out.

"You really think I'm pretty?"

He ignored her, "Naw, that's not it…" he said pensively.

She heard him snap something open and uncovered her eyes just long enough to see him holding a masterfully crafted bow in his hands, carefully…no…_lovingly_ polishing it. He wasn't an inept baby assassin after all. She knew exactly who he was.

_Just. Fucking. Great._

"You could be trying to infiltrate SHIELD, or I suppose you could be actually trying to defect, but let's admit it, who the _hell _would be stupid enough to take you in?"

God he liked the sound of his own voice didn't he? She just wanted to punch him.

The bed dipped next to her as his weight settled down next to her. She had to stifle a pleased smirk as she uncovered her eyes to look up at him.

"I gotta admit, it's a pretty elaborate way to get yourself killed. Suicide by trained assassin, that's gotta be a new one." Great. A bleeding heart._ Just_ what she needed.

She propped herself up on her elbow, scooting her butt back to make it easier to sit up and leveled a glare at him. He laughed at her as if she were some harmless chained animal; but he too was close, leaning over her to look her in the eye like he had all the answers.

Her head connected with his nose giving a satisfying crack and sending him sprawling on the floor, cursing the whole way down. The pain and stars in front of her own eyes were less satisfying, but entirely worth it.

Pulling herself together quickly, she drew a pin from her hair and made quick work of the cuffs. For some reason men _never _thought to check a woman for hairpins, especially if their hair was down.

He recovered quickly, and made a grab for his quiver, but she was already on him, knocking him back onto the ground.

He got enough leverage to get on top so she sank her teeth into his arm and drew blood. The panic in his eyes as he realized he hadn't wiped off her lipstick while she was unconscious was enough for her to turn the tables. She had him trapped beneath her body and drew his own knife on him, placing it against his exposed throat.

He gave in, staring up at her hopelessly and probably cursing his own stupidity. The look in his eyes told her he undoubtedly thought he was dying. She wasn't actually wearing poisoned lipstick, but she laughed cruelly just to encourage the idea. Asshole.

She was just going to knock him out and leave, but then there was the distinct sound of a bullet being audibly chambered just outside of the door. They both tensed, sharing a surprised look.

Before she could make up her mind, she was unexpectedly lying flat on her back. The guy had flipped her over and covered her with his own body just as storm of bullets began to rain down.


	6. Appearances pt2

Your guys should review more. The more reviews I get, the more excited I get about giving you the next chapter. Who knows, you could get two chapters in one day…just saying

Many thanks to all those who have reviewed, you da bomb dot com!

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What the hell was he thinking?

Who saves the person who is trying to kill them? Who _does_ that?

The only reason he brought her with him to the hotel was because it looked too much like she had wanted to die, and he didn't want to do her dirty work for her.

This whole thing looked to him like she was trying to commit some elaborate form of suicide. But after thinking on it more while she was unconscious, if he had bet money on it, he honestly thought she was just trying to find an in to get to SHIELD. Play the regret and pity cards, get in, and do irreparable damage. Fury was exactly the kind of crazy son-of-a-bitch who would bet on a wild card like her, but Clint had no intention of ever giving her the chance.

But just then, looking up at her when they both knew what was about happen, he could see the wheels turning in her head. She wasn't going to move. Hell, she looked like she might even stand up to welcome the bullets like an old friend.

So he didn't think, he just acted.

Now he was shielding the women who, merely moments before signed his death warrant, as the room was ripped apart around them.

When then bullets stopped and the door banged open as their attackers invaded the room, they were both on their feet swift as lightning. He went for his bow and quiver, pulling an arrow and stabbing it into the guy that came at him first and then pulled it out, nocked it, and took out another attacker.

The Widow already had his knife so she pounced immediately and quickly slaughtered the rest. Her brutal efficiency was astounding. Clint had to admit he was kind of impressed, he half expected her to just lie down and be killed, but something told him it really wasn't in her nature. She'd have to force herself to give up and fight her instincts.

She stood there staring down at the bodies for a moment like she'd just crossed and burned a bridge. A spy suddenly left out in the cold. And then abruptly, she was gone, bounding down the hall.

_Shit._

_Let her go?_

_Follow?_

_Let her go?_

_Fo—ah hell…_

Grabbing his duffle from the floor, he followed. He caught up with her in the parking lot as she was casually breaking into a car in the early morning hours. She glanced up in surprise as he came up beside her and lounged against the car to watch her work.

She got the thing started and slid behind the wheel. He hopped into the passenger seat earning him an annoyed look from her. _Just what the hell do you think you're doing_ it told him. He shrugged nonchalantly and then looked forward, waiting for her to pull out on to the road.

She huffed indignantly at him, but didn't try to make him to leave. He decided he really enjoyed getting a reaction out of her, even if it was just annoyance.

When she pulled the car up outside of a Holiday Inn he realized something…he wasn't dead. In fact he felt perfectly fine…But she'd bitten him with those sharp teeth and _poisonous _pink lips…

She got out of the car in a rush and started into the hotel purposefully. He followed behind in a daze. Grabbing her by the wrist to stop her for a moment he tried to form words. "I...uh…wha-"

She stopped long enough to take in his confused, questioning gaze. Flashing him a "you're-an-idiot" smile and rolling her eyes, she pulled from his grasp and continued into the hotel lobby.

She hadn't actually poisoned him; he filed that away for analysis later. This woman was just full of surprises.

She was a woman on a mission, bypassing the check-in desk and going straight for the stairs. Either she already had a room or they weren't checking in. he followed her like a lost puppy because, well…why not? He couldn't think of anything better to do at the moment.

Arriving on the third floor, he barely had time to register the two men who were there before she had his knife out and was plunging it in to one of the poor bastards' throat. The other guy let out a yelp and fell back against the wall in fright, clearly not a trained operative. The Widow quickly turned her attention to him, but Clint was there first, getting in her way.

He braced himself for a fight, he wasn't going to let her kill him, but she didn't attack. She just arched an eye brow at him, looking pointedly at the man he was protecting. it took a moment for his brain to register who it was. Liev Kuryshev.

"oh_…oh!"_

For the first time he noticed that the dead guy had a gun as she stooped to pick it up. She had saved the guy from his would be assassin. Like he said: full of surprises. She hadn't done anything he expected of her. He was going to have to reevaluate his opinion of her.

Clint could do little but stare open mouthed at her as he came to terms with his new perspective. His world had just been tilted upside down and he didn't seem to know which way was up any more.

The Widow gave an aggravated growl at him as he stood there uselessly. A quality she didn't appreciate. She yanked Liev up from the floor, who gave a frightened whimper, and was off again.

Slapping himself out of his shocked state, he shook his head to get it back in the game and took off after them. They didn't get very far. Coming up the stairwell was a group bad guys; so they ducked through the door to the second floor.

Bolting down the hall, they stopped short as another group came out of the elevator half way down the hall. Much like one might see in a Hollywood action movie, one of the men was not like the others with his impressive good looks. Calm and collected with a certain kind of ice in his eyes that comes with being a successful career killer, the widow had the same look. He was a killer and he was exceptionally good at it.

Bracing himself for a knock-down-drag-out fight, Clint moved to engage them first. The Widow stopped him with a hand on his shoulder; her brow was furrowed in concern. She nodded pointedly to the nearest door. He obliged and kicked it in, shoving Liev in while she raised her gun and quickly fired off three shots, taking down one man for each bullet and sending the rest diving for cover.

They leapt in after Liev as the bad guys returned fire. Clint immediately went about barricading the door, if something could cause the _Black Widow_ to frown like that, then he sure as hell didn't want to find out why.

They all hit the floor as bullets assaulted their room for the second time.

"This is becoming a bad habit," He remarked. The Black Widow didn't find him very funny because she simply ignored him.

There was a lull in the gunfire, and the Widow took the opportunity to fire a couple shots at door and then fired a shot to blow out the ceiling to floor window. She hauled Liev to his feet and pushed him toward the window. When he saw what she meant to do, he started to freak. Heart of a lion this one.

Clint guessed the Widow didn't really know how to comfort anyone because she simply reached out and smacked him. He put a hand to his cheek and stared at her wide eyed in shock. Clint chose to intervene before the woman decided to simply shove him out the window.

"It's only the second floor, just land on your feet, bend your knees and roll to absorb the shock." He gave the guy a pat on the back, and after he had swallowed nervously and nodded bravely, Clint gave him a good push. Clint turned and loosed an explosive arrow that was more bang than bite just as their assailants pushed into the room, and he and the Widow followed Liev out the window.

They landed easily. Liev rolled his ankle upon landing but was otherwise unharmed. Clint helped him to his feet and pushed him in the direction of the car. He could fear cursing behind them in what sounded like Russian.

"Friends of yours?" he asked.

He expected her to simply ignore him, but she surprised him with "I don't have friends." as she slid behind the wheel.

They were already speeding away into the sunrise as her not-friends followed them out the window.

He really needed to find out her name so he could quit calling her the Black Widow in his mind. For some reason that name didn't seem to fit anymore.

* * *

Please review!


	7. Best Laid Plans

Standing there amongst the bodies of her former comrades, if they could even be called that, she came to the realization that there was no going back. She'd unwittingly taken a step down a path she hadn't meant to travel.

The American had been entirely right when he accused her of orchestrating her death. She was tired and wanted out. Running was not worth the trouble, no one would take her in and a spy out in the cold didn't last long, they'd take her down. Death was the solution, but it had to be done right. She could not merely overdose, put a bullet in her head, or fuck up a job and let them kill her. She didn't want them to be able to "save" her.

She knew far more than they thought. She knew what they could do and it made her stomach turn. She didn't want to take the chance they would do it to her and she would lose what little control she still had.

So she laid down bread crumbs. SHIELD had been desperate to remove her from the field. She had caused irreparable damage sabotaging missions, stealing or destroying valuable intel, and turning or killing valuable assets. They would want to make certain she was gone, which meant collecting the body, verifying the ID, and destroying all evidence. She would be beyond the reach of the red room.

But nothing was going according to plan.

She was so damn close to her dead line when the idiot finally showed up in Sao Paulo. Any longer and she either would have had to get Liev out herself, or kill him. They wanted her to take him out before he could get his hands on some particularly damaging material. They gave her time to get close, assuming she'd be an overachiever as usual, and take out his source as well.

She was the source.

She assumed SHIELD would show up, take her out and take Liev into protective custody. But he just took so fucking long; and when he finally arrived he took his sweet time observing her. So she developed a routine and gave him plenty of chances, but he _still _wouldn't take the fucking shot. She decided to give him a little encouragement, and even that had failed miserably.

Fucking great time to be losing her touch.

She was furious when she woke up in that crappy motel. She wasn't supposed to wake up, he was supposed to kill her and go back to SHILD with all the glory that came with killing The Black Widow. Guess he didn't want the glory.

So she took out her frustration on him; she only wished she could've put enough force behind it to actually break his nose. What kind of idiot takes a mark prisoner when he was sent to_ kill_ her?

Hawkeye wasn't quite living up to his reputation.

Then they came for her and he_ protected_ her; shielding her with his own body and forcing her down a path she had been trying to avoid.

Well, if she was going to do this, she was going to make hell for them. So she took off to save Liev and the Hawk followed.

* * *

"An American spy and a Russian spy walk into a bar…there's got to be a joke in there somewhere."

She actually had to hold back a snort of laughter at that because…well…their situation was rather absurd. A civil rights activist, the assassin sent to kill him, and the assassin sent to kill the assassin, hiding in a bar from a crew of mercs. Somehow she didn't think they'd find the punch line very amusing.

It was early afternoon and there were only a few customers in the joint. They had spent the entire morning moving around; stopping only to get some new clothes and to raid one of several weapons caches she had hidden around the city. A healthy habit one tended to have in her line of work.

Hawkeye decided they should stop for a while to take stock and make a plan. Whatever. She already knew what she was going to do. It was fortunate Hawkeye had followed her, whatever the reason. Now she could leave Liev in his hands and trust he'd survive long enough to get that information where it needed to go. So she let him lead then into a seedy bar.

Liev went directly for the bar and was now nursing a glass of whiskey.

"Oliver Queen" she turned to find Hawkeye holding out his hand to her.

"_fignya_"

He gave her a confused look.

She clarified for him, "how do you say? ..._bullshit_" laying on the Russian accent.

He gave her a heart melting smile, but her heart is stone, not ice.

"Clint Barton" he gave her the truth this time, offering his hand again.

"So?"

"I give you my name, you give me yours. That's how this works, cause I sure as hell ain't gonna go around calling you The Black Widow."

Did he think they were partners now or something? That just because he didn't kill her and she saved the person she was supposed to kill that they were suddenly on friendly terms?

She folded her arms and scowled at him, and he simply grinned in response. "Come on, you gotta have a name, everyone has a name."

She elected to ignore him and directed her attention to scanning the room for any threats, but he persisted.

"You could make something up to give me. Otherwise I'll make something up and I get the feeling that that'll really irritate you."

What was irritating her was that he wouldn't shut up. She really didn't care of he chose some random name to call her; she used aliases all the time. Instead he was listing off names and deliberating which fit her best.

"Jessica? Courtney? Naw, too American. Olga is too ugly. Lara?...no. oh! How about Misha?...or better yet Nastia! That fits much better…" On and on it went. She was starting to get the urge to punch him. She'd never encountered anyone so irritating. Hadn't he wanted to stop so they could figure out what they were doing and make a plan or some shit like that?

It became too much. "it's Natasha! Now will you please just _shut up_!"

She scolded herself, since when does she blow up like that? He looked way too pleased himself, and the urge to punch him got stronger.

"Natasha" he repeated, trying it out as he looked her up and down, nodding his head in approval. She almost expected him to start spouting some nonsense about the meaning of the name and how it was perfect for her, how symbolized her life in some way.

"Alright, come on Nat. I'll buy you a drink." If she rolled her eyes every time she got the urge, they'd be spinning in her head around him. He took a seat at the bar and beckoned her over. He ordered a couple shots of vodka, buying into the Russian stereotype.

_What the hell._ She joined him at the bar and threw back the shot.

He gave her a smug smile. One more and she was going to give into her compulsion.

"So, Tasha wha-"

"Stop with the nicknames, we are not friends."

He raised his hands in surrender, giving her a sly smile. "Whatever you say babe."

That's it. She decked him.

The bar tender laughed loudly, teasing Clint in Portuguese and pouring her another shot. He stared up at her in shock. That'll teach him to lower his guard around her.

Her hand stung from the force of slugging him, but she welcomed it. It felt good to take out her frustrations on him. It would have been even better of her hadn't started laughing at her like he'd won. He got her name, and he got a reaction. Asshole.

She threw back the shot and scowled down at him; then made her way to the bathroom and never came back.

* * *

so the first part made sense in my head...but it's kinda light the twilight zone in there...

Reviews much appreciated


	8. Curiosity

He really should have seen _that_ one coming a mile away. This woman had a way of throwing him off his game.

They should have called her phantom, or ghost, or friggin Kitty Pryde because he swore that woman could walk through walls.

Now he was left babysitting a terrified Ukrainian who was quite the nervous drinker. How the man had remained alive this long after pissing off such powerful people was beyond him, but now he had to get the guy out of this place in one piece.

Clint had had some difficulty getting Hill to agree to send someone until Liev finally opened his mouth about some disk he got from some source that was loaded with crucial intelligence on something called the Red Room. Fury perked right up at that and ordered Hill to get him the hell out of there. Pronto.

The smart thing to do would be to hang around, keep the Ukrainian out of trouble, and wait for the extraction team to arrive. Not that he could follow her if he tried; the woman was good at her job. Why would he want to find her anyway? Let Natasha sort her own shit out.

But he had to admit, he was curious.

Why all the drama? Why save Liev? She had no reason to. It was ridiculous to think she did it for love; she was hardly the kind to get attached. He didn't know her very well, but he was pretty sure she wasn't the type to devote herself to a cause.

Curiosity killed the cat.

Stay put and he could be back in time for Christmas, find a pretty girl to celebrate the New Year with, get shit face drunk, and forget all this nonsense concerning some troublesome Russian spy.

All it took was a quick stop by the local SHIELD safe house manned by some poor green agent, and he was able to move freely around the city, sans the Ukrainian dead weight.

There wasn't much he could do to track her, so he just picked a high perch in the center of the city dusk came over the city and waited.

Good thing he wasn't a cat.

* * *

It's short, but I wanted to get something up. Now…off to do tend to my poor neglected homework. Yay dead week! ick

don't forget to review! _pretty please!_


	9. Killed the Cat

Alright, so I started writing this like three different times and hated it each time. Then today in the middle of my Philosophy class, I finally found how I wanted it to go. So here you go, to the detriment of my grades….

Hope you like it!

Don't forget to review! Pretty please!

* * *

Everyone always assumes it's exciting to be a covert operative. Secret meetings, explosions, firefights, cool fight moves and gadgets. All that James Bond shit.

In reality, it involved a lot of waiting. Waiting for a meeting, information, opportunity, waiting for a mark to make a mistake or to be in just the right place, surveillance, extraction. Seriously, like ninety percent of the job was merely waiting around.

Sit and wait.

Clint was pretty damn good at it. At least while he was on a job, the rest of the time it seemed his mind liked to make up for all the hours of complete focus with severe ADHD that drove Maria Hill up the wall. She even pulled a gun on him once because he wouldn't sit still…

true story.

There was still about another hour before the extraction team was due to arrive, so for some crazy reason he decided to spend it far above civilization waiting for…well he wasn't sure

More than likely the woman would take care of business quickly and quietly and he'd be none the wiser to what went down or if she even survived it.

But then again, for two people who are the best in the business, nothing about the last 48 hours was going smoothly for either of them.

She certainly wasn't a friendly, but he no longer thought of her as the enemy. He didn't know much of her story, but he was kinda starting to root for her. She wasn't too much younger than him, but for as long as she'd been one SHIELD's radar, she had to have started young. _Too_ young.

It couldn't have been her choice and that alone made him want to jump into the fray and help her deal a painful blow to whoever had done it to her. He was pretty sure she would laugh in his face if he ever expressed the sentiment.

Darkness settled in around him. It was a cool, clear night. The kind meant for romance and falling in love; instead a dark foreboding vibe seemed to hang in the air. It was like a taking deep breathe before plunging into icy cold water.

Something was about to happen and it wasn't going to be pretty. It was a gut feeling but he tended to be right about these things.

He had to get back to the safe house. _Now_.

* * *

He arrived on the roof across the street from the safe house just as three identical black SUVs pulled up outside (real original guys) each delivering four goons to the safe houses doorstep.

Without hesitation, Clint nocked an explosive arrow and let it fly for one of the vehicles.

The noise ought to be enough of a warning for the agent inside to get Liev the fuck out.

One guy managed to get himself pinned beneath the car and was screaming in agony. That had to suck. Too bad it hadn't taken more of them out of commission, one down eleven to go. One of the others turned a gun on him to shut him up.

_Real nice guys_

Four of them moved to enter the building where he was currently perched. He swiftly took out one of them, but had to duck for cover as a hailstorm of bullets came his way before he could take out the rest.

There was a brief break in the gunfire that resumed as soon as he popped up to quickly let off another explosive arrow. As he ducked back down in to cover, the roof door behind him burst open.

_Oh right, forgot bout you guys for a minute there._

They opened fire on him, forcing him to dive and roll for cover; a rather painful maneuver with an unforgiving high tech metal quiver on one's back. What a great way to solve a problem. Let's just keep firing bullets at it till it goes away. Seriously did any of these guys have any tact or finesse?

_It's just point and shoots with these guys, real professionals._ Clint scoffed.

They were probably only hired thugs who only dealt with people who didn't give much of a fight. Against a highly trained professional operative, they weren't too much of a problem and they soon were reduced to corpses at his feet. These kind of goons were only employed as distractions by professional operatives.

The gunfire from the street had ceased, and he looked down to find Natasha, the deadly Black Widow, brutally cutting down the remainder of the goons without much difficulty.

She really was quite beautiful in the middle of a graceful and deadly dance; it was no wonder so many men had fallen prey to her beauty. She was enchanting even as she mercilessly slaughtered a handful of men who never stood a chance.

Only two were left now that he could see. She stopped to stare down one of them, warily keeping her distance. The man from the Hotel; the one she had kept him from attacking. Mr. scares-Natasha-and-therefore-terrifies-the-shit-out-of-Clint

_Fuck._

The man off to her side rushed her, distracting her momentarily as she dispatched him to the next world and giving Mr. scary just to opportunity he needed to get the jump on her. He disarmed her and dealt a painful blow to the stomach.

She recovered quickly and retaliated with a powerful kick to the guy's side, and they were quickly engulfed in a terrifying dance. Natasha was just barely managing to hold her own, and this time she wasn't allowing it to happen like she had when she fought Clint the other night. She was fighting tooth and nail, pulling out all the stops.

At one point she leapt into the air, catching his neck between her thighs, she brought him to the ground and neatly landed on her feet ready to strike again.

Now _that_ was cool.

The guy wasn't down for long, and was quickly back to pressing her defences.

Nocking an arrow, Clint carefully took aim. Back muscles tensed, wire pulled taut, exhaled slowly. He waits for the perfect moment…now!

He relaxed his hand and lets the arrow fly to strike a perfect kill shot, clean through the eye-but Natasha gets in the way as she struggled to best her opponent, pushing him out of the perfect alignment with death. The arrow sliced through the meat of arm and embedded itself in the guy's shoulder.

_Man_, they just _love_ to screw each other up.

She grunted in pain and the man in howled in anger, turning a fearsome glare toward Clint. Clint let out a stream of curses as he took aim once again. Natasha doesn't miss a beat. Taking advantage of the guy's momentary distraction, she seized the arrow, gave it a vicious twist and delivered a kick to the guys abdomen, sending him sprawling while simultaneously ripping out the arrow.

The attack gives her just enough time to shout something to Clint before the guy is on her once again and Clint can't get a clean shot.

He couldn't hear what she shouted, but he got the idea. She wants him to get to Liev, to keep him alive. He is reluctant to leave her without any help, but the information the guy has is far too important. Begrudgingly he fires a line between the two buildings and quickly slides across.

He found Liev and the rookie SHIELD agent pinned down in the alley behind the building by two goons. Without much thought, Clint smoothly took out one of the assailants and was lining up his next shot when suddenly he found himself knocked on his ass.

He didn't think, just reacted, regaining his feet and taking aim on his attacker. But they were too fast, getting in close and wrenching his bow to the side causing the arrow fly harmlessly by.

Briefly he thinks it is Natasha, but this one is all raven hair, blue eyes, and a lot less curves.

_Where the hell did she come from?_

She gave the bow a swift twist, attempting to break his grasp and delivered a vicious knee to his man bits.

_Ah hell, that just ain't right._

He reacts with a head butt, giving him enough space to take a deep breath in an attempt to cope with the ungodly pain.

She's on him again in a flash, knocking him over the edge of the roof.

Clint will later think that it's pretty _damn_ impressive that he managed not only to keep ahold of his bow, but also had enough of his mind still working to pull and arrow to fire off a rope. The arrow didn't hold, pulling out of the wall as it took his weight, but it slowed him just enough to save his life.

He landed hard on his back, on top of his afore mentioned sucks-to-land-on quiver, knocking the wind out him. Groaning in agony, he opens his eyes to the upside down image of a wide-eyed rookie frozen in shock.

_Worst. Day. Ever._

Suddenly Natasha is standing over him, glancing quickly over him to take stock of his injuries and then turning her attention to the roof from which he fell.

He managed to get himself to his knees. The movement is painful and makes him woozy, so he stills his movements in an attempt to quell the sensation.

Natasha is barking something to the agent and Liev, but she sounds distant and he can't make out what she's saying. Then she is suddenly very close to him hauling him to his feet, and as ridiculous as it is, all he can think about is how very pleasant she smells.

Then gunshots ring out cutting through the fog in his head and bright red blood spatters across Natasha's ivory skin.

Liev falls like a stone to the ground, a hole in his head and lifeless eyes staring into the distance. The agent crumples as well, falling against a wall; trying uselessly to staunch a gushing stomach wound.

Clint barely has time to register the horror, the first pure untainted emotion he's ever seen from her, that distorts Natasha's face before darkness swallows him up.


	10. Enemy of my Enemy

so...I proof read this at 1:00 in the morning...so I probably missed a lot.

also, I an too tired to think of a name for this chapter at the moment. I'll figure that out later.

enjoy!

* * *

He came back to himself slowly, drifting in and out of consciousness several times before fully coming to and finally opening blurry eyes to a dim room.

Everything ached and he couldn't breathe. Fighting back the initial panic that comes with the feeling of suffocating; he tried to focus on dragging in enough oxygen.

After several painful and inadequate attempts to suck in enough air, he was finally able to take stock of his situation. The room was dim and nondescript; a dingy pit with a metal door for holding "guests of honor." He was hanging a few feet off the ground from his hands tied over his head, making it difficult to breathe, and straining his already injured shoulders and back. He was bare chested and the room was fucking cold. If he hung there long enough, he would suffocate.

It was unpleasant to say the least.

There were also charming things siting on a table in the corner such as pliers, a hammer, various blades, and a car battery.

_Oh joy._

Not much he could at the moment but hang limply and concentrate on getting a full breath of precious oxygen. Hours passed. At least it felt like hours, time doesn't exactly flow properly when you're suffering from a concussion, oxygen deprivation, and God knows what else.

Some angry Russian sounding stuff came from outside the door, though to be honest the sweetest love poem would sound angry in Russian to Clint. Languages really weren't his strong suit. He never quite got a hang of the use of emphasis when it came to Russian; put the emphasis on the wrong syllable and you end up saying something completely different.

The door slid open and in stepped the most stereotypical Russian dude Clint had ever encountered. He was bald with a burly mustache and lovely tattoos that marked him as a badass. He looked him up and down, evaluating the best way to go about making Clint's day even worse, taunting him in Russian. At least Clint though he was taunting him. He was either threating to break every bone Clint's body or making a racial slur about a china man.

"I can tell now," he choked out, "we are going to be_ great _friends."

Russian dude drew a scary knife and slid it along Clint's neck; he murmuring menacingly in Russian.

_Whatever dude._

Clint merely let his eyes slide shut and focused once again on dragging oxygen into his lungs. Apparently Russian Dude wasn't happy with that reaction, because a fist suddenly slammed into his already bruised ribs. Clint groaned loudly, using the little breath he had left to let out a string of curses.

The guy let out a throaty laugh. Clint cracked his eyes open to glower at the guy; whose smirk only grew in response. The guy spoke again in a mocking tone, patting Clint's cheek like he was a small child.

He spoke again; something that sounded somewhat like a question. Unable to understand what he said, Clint elected to merely glare back at him. It earned him a sharp back handed blow that snapped his head to the side and left a deep gash in his cheek from a bulky ring.

"I don't fucking speak Russian." He managed to gasp out and was rewarded with another blow to the face. Coppery blood filled his mouth as his teeth cut into his cheek, and he let out another groan.

"Fuck"

Russian Dude gave him a toothy grin. Hissing in pain, Clint slid his eyes closed once again. He felt the guy get closer and braced for another blow. Instead, he felt a knife grate against the rope that he was suspended from. It gave way and he crumpled to the cold ground like a sack of potatoes. He drew knees to his chest; coughing and gasping for air.

_Big mistake buddy._

He rolled to his hands and knees, still gasping. Just give him a minute to catch his breath and…

A savage kick to his ribs sent him rolling onto his back. If his ribs weren't cracked before, they definitely were now. The dude let out another gleeful laugh followed by another incomprehensible taunt. He was really starting to piss Clint off. He took a minute to close in his eyes and draw in a solid deep breath. Then acted.

Pulling himself to his feet as quickly as he could manage, he dove into Russian Dude, grabbing him around the middle and smashing him back into the wall. The guy brought down an elbow on Clint's shoulder in an attempt to break his hold, but Clint held firm.

Not feeling up to a long drawn out fight, Clint went for the low blow putting as much force behind it as he could manage. Russian dude collapsed in to a wretched whimpering puddle.

Clint rolled his shoulders and stretched his muscles, taking inventory of his injuries. His head was swimming from a concussion, cracked ribs, his back was killing him, and he was shaking from the cold making his bones ache even more. No way were they still in Sao Paulo, unless this was a meat locker.

He really wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a soft bed to collapse into, but that was a long way off.

Behind him, someone cleared their throat. This is why concussions suck, they make everything foggy, and senses dulled reflexes sluggish. He turned to find Not-Natasha standing in the door way. Raven hair pulled back and clad in a skin tight cat 's shoulders sagged at the sight of her. This was _just_ what he needed.

She was younger than Natasha, which made him a bit queasy, and couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds. She gave him a seductive someone's-been-a-naughty-boy look, and he felt like he might throw up.

There was a commotion down the hall that briefly drew her attention, and Clint took the opening and flew at her. He caught her off guard and knocked her back into the hall. She retaliated by nailing him in the ribs. Doesn't matter who you are or how much training you have, a cracked rib is a crack rib. He went down easy and she soon had him face down with an arm twisted behind him and her knee ground into his back.

_Wonderful_

* * *

Coming slowly out of a drugged stupor, Natasha woke to a sickly shade of grey. The color of the hopeless; this is what she was afraid would happen.

The good doctor stood over her with his rotten smile and greasy comb over; promising a lollipop if she behaved. She never wanted to kill anyone more than this man. He had her strapped into a chair, like what you might find at the dentist's, but with bindings for the wrists and ankles.

"I_ always_ behave." She growled.

He chuckled, "Ah. But sometimes you behave badly, no?"

She gave him a brief mock smile before her face quickly fell into an impassive expression. He gave her a predatory grin. Ignoring him, she fixed her gaze firmly on the wall in front of her; her mind furiously trying to work out what to do.

They knew exactly how dangerous she was, they did create make her what she is after all, and took every precaution. There were two guards at the door. Dangerous ones who had trained with her and knew her moves, not simply typical army trained soldiers. They would drug her before moving her, and no doubt that faithful little psychopath was somewhere nearby.

A needle slid into her arm releasing a fiery drug into her blood stream that burned all the way up her arm. Two more needles followed. One to make her weak and relax her muscles, one to make her mind fuzzy, and the third one was her regular cocktail.

A forth one would follow; luminescent blue to strip her of her memories and defiant attitude, and make her more receptive to programing and conditioning. It used to be routine for her after a mission. Slowly they let her go longer and longer, until she proved she'd be obedient. The perfect little soldier.

A cold clammy hand found her neck. He was standing behind her now, sliding his hand down her cheek to her neck and lower. She turned her head then and sank her teeth in as hard as she could. He screamed and yanked his arm away, but she didn't let up her vice grip and a chunk of skin tore away.

He fell back against the wall clutching his injured arm and staring at her wide-eyed. She spit out the chunk of flesh and met his gaze. Blood dripping from her lips, she gave him a dangerous scathing glare that made him pale visibly. Her eyes followed him ominously as he wrapped gauze around the wound and, muttering curses, left her alone in the room.

She could feel the drugs begin to take effect as her senses began to dull and her muscles became heavy. It was now or never.

Leaning forward she could just barely reach the leather restraint with her teeth. They shouldn't have left her alone.

* * *

The pressure on his arm was suddenly released and Not-Natasha's weight lifted from his back. He rolled over to find the actual Natasha, clad in only her underwear, dragging the girl back by the hair. She threw the chick face first into an unforgiving wall. She came back up snarling, with a broken nose and a bloodied face. She attacked Natasha like a rabid dog, hitting, clawing and biting.

Behind them, three other men had arrived on the scene, drawing their weapons and charging into the fray. Knocking the girl to the ground, Natasha turned on the new comers, closing the distance faster than was thought possible. She easily disarmed the first and put a bullet in him then lifted it to take out the next.

Clint drug himself to his feet just in time to intercept Not-Natasha as she renewed her attack, body checking her into a wall. She dug her nails into him, leaving deep gashes. He grabbed her wrist and twisted it till her face contorted in pain. She growled and stuck at him with her foot. Blocking the blow he spun her around, and locked her into a sleeper hold.

Clint looked up to find Natasha in trouble. The third guy had her pinned on the ground with his hands around her neck.

_Come on. Come on. Come on._

The girl finally went limp, Clint tossed her aside without much thought and quickly moved to pull the guy off of her. He yanked the guy up and delivered a powerful blow to the guy's face. Wiping blood from his lip, the man smiled savagely at Clint.

He attacked like a tiger, crashing into Clint's ribs.

_God this is getting old really fast!_

Gritting his teeth, brought up a knee to the stomach and then slammed into his sternum. The guy staggered back with the wind knocked out of him. He moved to attack again but was stopped by the gunshot that rang out. A red stain blossomed on his chest and he rather dramatically let choked for air, fell down to his knees and then flat onto his face.

Clint slumped against the nearest wall with a sigh of relief, and moved to help Natasha from up from where she was still on the ground with the gun trained on the space the man had previously occupied. He pulled her to her, and she fell limply against his chest almost knocking him down.

"Natasha?"

He quickly checked her for injuries, but found nothing serious.

"Natasha, what's wrong?" Tilting her face toward him, he found a dull look in her eyes. Her head lulled to the side.

shit.

"hey! _hey_!" he shook her and slapped her gently on her cheek "Hey! Stay awake. Natasha! Come_ on_."

Her eyes opened slightly, struggling to stay conscience.

"I…they uh…dru…drugged me."

"Come on…stay with me just long enough to get the hell out of her."

Taking the gun from her nearly limp hand he pulled her down the corridor. One other person cropped up as he searched for a way out, he fired without hesitation, putting them down before he even register the two weak and injured escapees.

He managed to pulled her up a couple flights of stairs from the basement of a rundown building and out the door in to the cold snow.

Snow. Right. Definitely not in Sao Paulo.

He'd figure out exactly where they were later, right now he was only concerned with putting as much distance between them and this place as possible, and finding a safe place to stop and lick his wounds so to speak.

Natasha stayed semi conscience just long enough for his to load her into a black SUV parked outside their prison. He found a blanket in the back and wrapped her in it, then picked a direction and drove till he couldn't physically drive anymore.


	11. In the Cold

Sorry for the long wait. My family is crazy.

* * *

Her nose was cold.

There was a soft blanket was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and a small fire warmed her toes.

"_sʺyestʹ' malenʹ'kiy_."

His voice was deep and soothing. Warm meat was pushed into her hands. It smelled delicious, and she tucked in happily. There was warm laughter beside her, deep and comforting, coming from a man who sat beside her. He put an arm around her shoulders, rubbing up and down her arm to coax some warmth back to her bones.

She liked him, he let her eat as much as she wanted and he had kind grey eyes. She did not often meet people with kind eyes. So, on a whim, she decided to trust him and leaned into his side.

It was the closest thing to perfect happiness she had ever experienced.

Slowly the fog began to clear; something was dragging her out of it, urgently pulling and tugging at her mind. She didn't want to leave, didn't this happy warm haze to fade forever.

The man next to her let out a groan that vibrated through her chest, an arm tightened against her waist and there was hot breath against her neck.

Her eyes snapped open to a face full of hair. The man was practically lying on top of her. They were wrapped up together in a scratchy wool blanket, his face buried in her neck and an arm holding her close.

Fighting off the drug induced sluggishness that weighed down her limbs; she wildly shoved him away, and quickly crawled backwards till her back came up against something cold and solid.

She stared at him, willing her mind to focus and formulate some plan of action. The man…Clint Barton, she now recalled…stared up at her with an unfocused confused look. He looked like she felt.

Her vision swam. She was going to be sick…

* * *

He drove for as long as he could manage, which turned out to be not very long. His head was throbbing something terrible, and his vision began to blur around the edges; he was in no condition to continue for much longer. What was it they said about operating heavy machinery with a concussion? Did a car count? He supposed it did…

What was he doing? Oh right. Safe place. He had to find a safe place to park the damn car before he passed out. Out of sight, off a main road…his mind, while processing slowly, automatically ticked off certain requirements for what constituted a "safe place." Well…safe-ish. There were no guarantees, especially when one was temporarily mentally compromised.

They were in a fairly large city, which was a plus. More places to hide and more places to rip off supplies from without drawing too much attention.

_Oh! Parking garage! Score!_

He parked in a dark corner in the second to lowest level and then turned to check over the other occupant of the vehicle. She was sprawled across the back seat, out cold with a blanket haphazardly thrown over her. Her skin was pale white.

There was no way he'd be able to get her anywhere else tonight. He could barely walk, let alone drag around an unconscious woman. Not to mention it was terribly cold outside and they were both half naked. What a sight that would have been.

With nowhere to go and one blanket between the two of them, it really didn't take a genius to figure out what had to be done.

Without a thought, he gracelessly crawled into the back and slipped under the blanket with her, promptly succumbing to unconsciousness.

He really should have thought that one through a little bit more…

He was awoken rudely by a painful shove to his already substantially abused chest, he let out an undignified yelp as he fell awkwardly in between the seats.

Still a slight murky from sleep, it took him a moment to register the situation. He looked up to find Natasha huddled against the car door, frowning at him with distrustful eyes and looking very much like a frightened little girl.

It was surreal to think this young girl was the fearsome Black Widow. She was banged up and bruised; and looked completely lost, seemingly helpless, like one of those kids on those commercials asking for money to support them. "For only a dollar a day, you can make sure little Natasha eats three meals a day and gets proper medical care." He had a feeling she hated that he was seeing her like this, catching her in genuine weakness.

Their awkward impromptu staring contest abruptly ended when her pale face turned green. She groped for the door handle and gracelessly stumbled out of the car, coughing and retching.

He followed quickly, pulling the blanket with him and tripping out behind her into the frigid air. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, and because he's really a nice guy, reached out to pull her hair out of her face and hold it out of the way. Apparently he crossed some sort of line because she stomped on his instep. There wasn't much force behind it given that neither one of them was in tip top shape at the moment, but he got the message and backed up to give her space. It probably didn't help her trust issues to wake up to him half naked and on top of her.

She pulled the blanket tight around herself and leaned her forehead against the cold concrete wall. Closing her eyes and she took a few deep breaths to center herself. When she finally turned to look at him she looked like a grumpy exhausted cat. He would have laughed at her tired scowl if he didn't think she'd make him pay for it in some painful way, his ribs had been mistreated enough for one lifetime already.

It's not every day you help your mark escape death. What were they even doing anyways? Liev was dead, and the intelligence lost with him. Beyond using each other out of their current fucked over situation, they had no reason to continue playing nice. She was probably going to try to either kill him or ditch him first chance she got, but for the time being they needed each other, and they both knew it. It was going to get interesting real fast.

For his part, Clint had already decided he wasn't going to even try to kill her again. Once he could, he was going to call up SHIELD and put this whole strange affair behind him. Fury was gonna be pissed.

"You look like shit." he said with a ghost of a laugh and the best charming smile he could muster in an attempt to dispel the awkward tension that had settled between them. She merely scoffed in return, all trace of the frightened little girl completely wiped from her face and a perfectly sculpted mask was firmly back in place. She dropped the blanket and gracefully made to way to the back of the SUV to sort through what might be useful

Clint caught himself staring open mouthed at her attractive form. Rubbing his hand over his face, he put his own game face back on and joined her in assessing what they had to work with.

As they worked side by side, Natasha stood uncomfortably close to him. Brushing up against him unnecessarily, purposefully reaching for the same things as him so that their hands bumped into each other. Clint did his best to ignore it, her every move was calculated to throw him off balance. She used her sex appeal like a clever weapon and he had no intention of letting her slip past his defenses like that.

They came up with some road flares, a first aid kit, a couple of knives, and a glock. Clint was the one to pull out the weapons, carefully setting them between him and Natasha in an attempt to make it abundantly clear that he had no intention pulling anything. Natasha however, quickly snatched up the knives and slipped one into her bra, and the lighter one into the waistband of her panties, leaving him the glock. It was pretty damn sexy and Clint had to force himself to look away. There was a smug pull of a smirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulled himself away from her side to break into another car to put some distance between them.

She was distracting him and she knew it. The maddening woman.

He found a light jacket in the car and quickly draped over her shoulders. Rather than shrug it off as he half expected she pulled in around herself and zipped it up (guess the cold finally won out). Thank God for _that_.

She hotwired a nondescript tan car while he dumped their scavenged supplies into the back and slipped into the passenger seat, content to let her drive while he downed some aspirin from the first aid kit.

It's a strange feeling not knowing what day it is or even where the hell you are. Who knew how long they were held in that place. Outside the sky was grey and cloudy, blocking out the sun. The car's clock said 8:17, but who knew if it could be trusted. Plus whatever the time change was from where they were to where they are. His internal clock was all fucked up.

The street signs were written in Cyrillic, meaning they were probably in Natasha's backyard. She maneuvered through the city with practiced ease, doubling back, signaling left and turning right, and getting on and off the highway (or whatever the hell they called it here)to smoke out any possible tails.

"You know where we are?"

She nodded but remained silent. The irritating woman.

"Care to share?" he asked, annoyed.

"Simferopol' "

He gave her a blank look. "Where now?"

"Doesn't SHIELD teach their agents in Geography?" her teasing tone took him off guard. She was a strange woman.

"Crimean peninsula, the Ukraine." She finally divulged.

"Hm." The other side of the world. _Great._ This mission wasn't supposed to be a world tour. What he wouldn't give for a hot cup of Irish coffee.

They rode in silence for over an hour. Just driving in circles. Again and again.

"Are we there yet?" he whined.

She shot him an annoyed look and kept driving around for another 20 minutes, just to irritate him he suspected.

_Finally_ she pulled into an underground garage. She parked and led him through an underground tunnel that came out on an alley. She made quick work of the lock, and pulled him into an old abandoned building. She took him up to the roof and then, unexpectedly took off in a sprint and leapt off the edge. She landed gracefully on the roof of the adjacent building, and then turned to star expectantly at him.

Clint groaned internally. His landing wasn't nearly as elegant, he tripped into a roll reawakening every little ache and pain. Not waiting for him to regain his feet Natasha carefully lifted one of the sunroofs, making strange practiced moves.

_Disabling booby traps_, Clint realized as he observed her. This was a safe house of some kind.

They dropped down into a rather comfortable studio apartment. Natasha quickly shed her borrowed jacket and pulled on some warm sweat pants and a t-shirt from the bureau. He'd never been so relieved to see a fully clothed woman in his life.

"There should be some clothes in there that will fit you."

He grabbed some clothes and made a beeline for the bathroom while she busied herself with re-engaging her security measures.

He took a long hot shower, washing away the grime and letting the hot water soothe his aching muscles. It was the only good part of this trip so far, so he reveled in it. He'd worry about SHIELD, and the Black Widow, and the shady organization they just missed off in a minute. For now, his world consisted entirely of the delightful relaxing hot shower.

He'd just stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his hips when she slipped in through the door. She stood with her back against the door and a heated look in her eyes. He was like a deer caught in head lights; all he could do was stare dumbly at her.

_Ah hell._

She attacked.

* * *

*puppy dog eyes*

Won't you please review? It'd be the bestest Christmas present you could give me.


	12. Between a Rock and a Hard Place

So many people reviewed the last chapter than ever before! Thanks for the encouraging words you wonderful people.

Right, so the opportunity for Clint to be naked presented itself, and I make no apologies…

Enjoy!

* * *

She crashed into him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and Clint suddenly found himself locked in a fearsome kiss. He managed to push her away briefly.

"Wha-"

"Shut up" she captured his lips again.

"Bu-"

"Still shut up" she effectively enforced her command with another bruising kiss and a wiggle of her hips, eliciting a groan from her victim.

Keeping one arm around his neck so that he couldn't escape her kiss, she slid her hand down his chest in a most delicious fashion, easily finding all his sweet spots.

This was a bad idea. V_ery_ bad idea.

Man, she was good. She released him from her kiss and began to chase her hand's path with her mouth. A moan escaped his mouth without his consent.

Clint was having a difficult time thinking straight because…_damn_ this woman had talented tongue! A tongue that was traveling lower…would it really be so bad it he let himself be ravaged by the beautiful and talented Black Widow?

_No, bad Clint! Down boy! _Hello! Back Widow?_ She's called that for a _reason_. Idiot!_

"Stop" he managed to choke out, his voice wavering. She gave him sexy, enticing smile before placing a deliberate open mouthed kiss by his navel and reaching for his towel.

_Aw hell_

Gathering every ounce of self-control he had left, he set his jaw, grabbed her wrists and yanked her to her feet. Clearing his throat he managed a much more forceful "_Stop_." Holding her at arm's length, he gave her his best imitation of Coulson's I'm-serious-knock-this-shit-off-right-fucking-now face.

She didn't look very impressed by it. Instead she pulled out of his grasp and began to close the distance between then once again. This time she moved slowly toward him, sliding her hand up his arm and sending shivers down his spine. Her eyes never left his, trying to draw him in, a seductive smile on her swollen lips as she further invaded his space.

"Natasha, _stop._"

"Shhh." She placed a light finger against his lips, and then replaced it with her own trying to draw him into a soft, sweet kiss. It took all of his self-control not to respond her. She pulled back after a moment, smiling as if she was amused at his attempt to resist her. She guided his hand up the back her shirt and pressed closer to him. He swallowed audibly, causing her smile to widen.

She really was quite beautiful when she smiled. It was distracting. And those pretty blues eyes that held his gaze…he couldn't seem to look away. She kissed him softly on the lips once again, drawing back to gaze into his eyes once again. It was a soft look of a lover staring into the eyes of her one and only.

He smelled a rat.

Going purely one his gut, he knocked her hand away from him and heard something go clattering to the floor. Her look of pure adoration dissolved scarily fast into an angry scowl. Without hesitation he delivered a hard shove to her sternum, sending her back into the sink. She growled at him and aimed a kick at the place it would hurt; which he barely managed to block (whew!). She groped for something behind her, and hurled a ceramic soap bottle at his head, then dove to the ground for what she had dropped.

She came up wielding a scary looking syringe. Best case scenario, it was just something to knock him out with. Worst case scenario, it would kill him. He was leaning toward the former, because if she was trying to kill him, there were a lot easier ways. But he really didn't want to test that theory.

He body checked her into the door, causing every each in his body to reassert itself. He pinned her against the door with his body and immobilized her wrists. Face to face once again, she gave him a sultry little smile.

_Uh oh _

She wiggled her hips against him. He gritted his teeth.

_Wicked little minx._

She wiggled a little more and hit towel hit the ground.

Great. Just great.

She grinned at him like a Cheshire cat and then somehow managed to get her legs around his waist and _squeezed._ Man, this woman sure knew how to use her every advantage. There would be time for embarrassment later. Growling in frustration, he squeezed hard on the pressure point in her wrist, causing her to drop the syringe. Then, because he couldn't think of anything else to do, he slammed his forehead into hers. Her head snapped back into the door with a loud crack, and her grip around his waist loosened.

He threw her face first onto the ground, scooped up the syringe and hopped onto her back. Without thinking, he plunged the needle into her arm. She snarled at him, and managed to dislodge him form her back. Pulling herself to her feet, she delivered a angry kick to his side, and a sock to the jaw.

He brought his arms up to guard himself, but the next blow never came. Looking up he found her leaning heavily against the sink, panting heavily and shaking her head to clear it. His body protesting, her leapt to his feet and moved to catch her. She lashed out at him, dragging her nails across his cheek and then passing out into his arms.

Holding her limp form, Clint leaned against the wall and let out a heavy sigh of relief. Checking for a pulse, he found a strong rhythm. Good. She _wasn't _trying to kill him. that gave him a bit of hope.

Twenty minutes later, he was fully dressed and armed with a hand gun he discovered. He had Natasha handcuffed to the bed, and for good measure, he tied her hands with makeshift rope made from a torn up shirt as well.

Her mood swings were giving him a headache. One moment they were trying to kill each other, the next they were helping each other, and then they were back at each other's throats. Well, she was at his at least.

He could understand her frustration; her employers seemed like a great bunch. He had a feeling that a fate worse than death awaited her if they managed to catch her. She was caught between a rock and a hard place, and she didn't think she could trust him. He was an enemy operative after all.

Clint, always a sucker for a hopeless cause, was actually inclined to help her out. Plus if he was honest he was also curious, her story intrigued him. So against his better judgment, he parked himself in a chair a good five feet out of reach from the bed, gun loaded and ready, and waited for her to wake. She wasn't going to be happy.

He almost laughed; they were right back where they started.

* * *

Don't forget to review! Pretty please! I'll love you forever! 3


	13. Knight in Shining Armor

Whew! I've had a crazy couple of days. I went up to the mountains to go to a retreat and got to find out what it was like to hang upside-down from a seat belt. No one was hurt, Praise God! And even my poor little computer came out of it without a scratch.

I had intended to have this up sooner, but shit happens.

Enjoy :)

* * *

He didn't have to wait for long.

He ran through all the things he could say to her in his mind, most of which would just piss her off. He figured he would say his peace and if she wasn't going to accept, she could go to hell. At least he could say he tried.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he missed the exact moment she came to, and almost jumped when he found those blue eye staring calmly at him. She wasn't fuming or snarling angrily at him, but there was a cold hardness to her eyes that set him on edge.

Leaning back in his seat like he hadn't a care in the world, he gave her his most winning smile that had swept many women off their feet. "Morning darling"

No reaction. Her face was as unmoving as stone.

"I think you and I need to have a little chat about our relationship." She quirked an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

"So they say you should use 'I statements' so that the other person doesn't feel attacked." he began mater-of-factly, "Well_ I_ feel like you don't like me very much when you try to jab a needle, filled with God-knows-what, into my neck." He gave her a stern look, the same one Coulson usually reserved for him. "It's hurtful!" She wasn't amused.

"I thought we were friends!" still nothing, not even a roll of the eyes. Jeez, he must be losing his touch. So much for lightening the mood.

"Look, here's the deal." He said, suddenly very serious. He leaned forward, arms resting on his legs, and looked her directly in the eye. It might be clichéd, but here goes. "I like you. And from what I've seen over the last week or so there's a lot more to you than your file says. You're more than a cold-blooded killer. I _know_ you must be tired of your life as it is, and I'm willing to help you out. We could fake your death pretty convince-"

She cut him off with her laughter. "Aww, you want to be my knight in shining armor? How sweet! Save me from my past and help me heal all my wounds so that I feel like a whole person again, won't you _please!_" she spat. "Do you think you can right all the wrongs I have been done? You think you can make me some great instrument of good? Or perhaps you think I'll go off and live a regular life. Get married settle down...have _children_?"

It was ridiculous. Her would be assassin, sitting across from her and offering to rescue her. She'd been down this road before it never ended well. Those who truly wanted to help were naive and didn't have the nerve or the resources to follow through, and those who did have those things had their own agenda.

There was a boy once. He had dark curly hair and Ice blue eyes. He smiled at her with such kindness. He had been the type that saw good in everyone. He had tried to romance her with beautiful images of a better life, of freedom. She had been young and his words tempting, but it ended like it always did, with her knife slipping easily between his ribs and he blood washing over her hands.

Who was he to offer this to her? Even if he was being genuine, she doubted his boss would share his ideals. She would not escape one master only to be enslaved to another.

"Do you think that by saving me you can make up for the evils you're responsible for? That it will change anything? This is a childish hope. What's been done cannot be undone." Her voice was raised. When did that happen? "You know _nothing_!_" _She snapped harshly, surprising herself with the force she put behind it.

Clint had a hard look in his eyes and she could tell he was clenching his jaw. He heaved a sigh as her words sink in. This wasn't going as he had hoped. Good. She wasn't about to roll over for him and let him take control of her life. He'd reveal his true intentions behind this fairytale he was trying to feed her.

"okay." He resigned.

_What?_

He stood up quickly, flipping open a pocket knife as he advanced on her. She tensed. Her body coiled and ready to fight back when he struck.

Noticing her posture, he backed up a couple steps and threw up his hands.

"Easy there sweetheart. Just gonna undo your hands."

She eyed him warily as he approached her slowly. He paused as he stepped with-in range of her legs which he had not bound. When she didn't immediately attack, he continued, gently slipping the knife between her skin and the rope. He removed the rope and handcuffs and then quickly put distance between them.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists for lack of anything better to do with her hands. She stared at him in confusion. As soon as he was certain her wasn't going to jump him, he began moving around the apartment.

_What the hell is his game?_

She silently watched him as he worked. He found one of her go-bags, pulled a hoodie over his head and grabbed a winter coat. He searched around for a little while before coming up with some boots that came close to fitting him and pulled them on.

"man, you sure do know how to prepare for every situation."

Her mind raced as she tried to figure out what he was planning. He was making a show of getting ready to leave, released her so she would feel like he was on her side. Did he expect her to stop him? To reconsider and beg him to take her with him? What would he do when she didn't? Would he come back to try and kill her? or would he try to bring her in alive? He'd already managed to knock her out and tie her up. Twice.

"I hope you don't mind if I borrow this stuff, but I can hardly walk down the street naked." His voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she caught herself staring into space, no longer monitoring his movements. Since when did she do that?

He gave her an uncertain smile that she did not return. "Are there any nasty traps I should know about before I try to walk out that door?"

She shook her head. She had intended to leave as soon as she knocked him out, so she had disarmed the security measures around the door while he was in the shower.

He stopped to inspect it carefully anyways, opening the door slowly, and wincing as if it might explode at his touch. It didn't.

He turned back to look at her, searching her face for any indication she had changed her mind.

She hadn't.

"If we ever cross paths again, I'll make it up to you for taking your stuff." Then he was gone.

As soon as the door closed behind him, she was up and moving. She left out the skylight, making it there in time to see Barton make it to the street and start walking away from the building. She chose the opposite direction.

* * *

Don't forget to review! (feel free to call me out on any typos BTW, I always seem to miss something)

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	14. Holiday Cheer

This is a much darker chapter. It dives into Natasha's mind set and reveals some of her past.

Enjoy.

* * *

The sun began to set, and colorful festive lights sprang up around the city. There was less than a week until Christmas and people tended to lose their sanity for a few weeks each year; singing, buying presents they couldn't afford, wishing strangers a 'Merry Christmas'. Natasha found the whole thing to be a ridiculous farce. No one ever gave a gift without hoping for one in return. It was how the world worked. Tit for tat.

For the rest of the world, this nonsense had already ended. But Russia liked to hold on to backwards ways, and the church stuck to the old calendar when it came to Christmas. It had been a source of frustration for Natasha while learning History, always having to learn two dates for events.

She found it Ironic that she should be here now, in this city so close to Christmas. One of her first missions had been here; a long term assignment to gather information that turned into a messy affair.

Ilya Demichev was a powerful and corrupt business man, but he loved his sister dearly. She got close to him, became his lover and confidant. The order to take him out came down the pipeline just before Christmas.

But before she could kill him quietly, his brother-in-law and business partner had a heart attack and was hospitalized, prompting Demichev's puppet master to pay a visit. Her handler at the time thought it would be more beneficial to take out all three men at once.

His sister and daughter were not supposed to be there.

Demichev's niece was an angelic little child. She was a delight to all around her, and Demichev doted on her. The little girl had skipped up to her just days before, a jovial smile that was just for Natasha and a small package hidden behind her back. She tugged gently on the skirt of Natasha dress, beckoning her to lean down to the child level.

"Can you keep a secret?" she said in a loud whisper.

Natasha replied with an amused smile, "of course."

"This is for you!" she presented the package to her, grinning from ear to ear. "I know it's not Christmas yet, but open it now! _Please_?"

Not immune to the child's charms, Natasha slowly pulled open the wrapping paper while the little girl bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet, urging her to open it faster. A beaded necklace, the kind kids string together during crafts, lay nestled in the excessive tissue and wrapping paper.

Small hands plucked it out and reached up to put it around her neck. She beamed up at Natasha for a second, taking in her handiwork and then bounded off once again.

It was a stupid mistake, but Natasha ran back into the burning building to pull her out. She was too late. She found the mother crushed beneath some rubble and the girl cry and screaming next to the corpse as her flesh burned.

Demichev managed to escape, and found her outside on the pavement clutching the child her chest. He fell to his knees next to her and wrapping his arms around both of them, sobbing into her neck.

The child lived, but just barely. She was severely burned and hospitalized for the rest of her life. If you could call that living. It wasn't until a week later, when he caught her slipping a needle into the little girl's arm, that he figured out she was behind the explosion.

He flew into a rage and tried to kill her. She managed to severely wound him, but barely escaped with her life. The bastard survived the encounter and went on to take his boss's place, making him damn near untouchable.

He hated the season even more than she did and was bound to be in a foul mood.

* * *

It was late and he was tired. The cold made his knee and burn scars ache even more, a cruel reminder of the past. Christmas was a time for family. So what does one do when they have none? Wallow in sorrow and self-loathing of course! He felt like Scrooge, a grumpy old man who wanted nothing to do with any one.

_Bah humbug _

Leaning heavily on his cane, he made his way into the study. Flipping on the light, he shuffled into the room, leafing through the mail. Same shit, different day.

"Hello Ilya."

He froze briefly, and then continued what he was doing. Calmly, he opened an envelope and read through its contents.

"What are you doing here?"

"Do I need a reason to visit an old friend?"

_Old friend_. It felt like a slap in the face. Exhaling heavily, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He was getting too old for this shit.

Finally he turned to look toward where she was perched on his desk, black calf boots, creamy legs, short skirt, and delicious red lips. The ghost of Christmas past, come to haunt him. Her lips curved into an arrogant smile as he met her eyes. She always managed to take his breath away, even now.

Once, a long time ago, he thought himself in love with this woman. Now, he almost choked on the intensity of his hatred for her.

"You have some nerve, coming back here now." He all but growled at her. "You'll regret it."

"Perhaps" she said mysteriously, her eyes challenging him. he had always loved her eyes. she could say so much with just one look.

Using his cane, he rapped loudly against the oak door, calling in his body guards who were never far. They rushed in at his call, stopping in their tracks to stare dumbfounded at the woman who slipped past security.

She made no move toward aggression.

"Sir?"

"Well?" Ilya gestured toward her.

She stood up as they advanced on her, holding her hands up in surrender. She didn't fight them as they turned her around and slammed her down on the desk. They handcuffed her arms behind her back, and none too gently frisked her. Her cooperation unnerved him. She had fought tooth and nail when he found her murdering his precious niece. Her schemes and manipulations knew no end. She was not one to simply lie down and take it, always an ace up her sleeve.

"She's unarmed sir,"

"Well that was unwise." They pulled her up to face him. "Surely you must have known what was waiting for you here." She merely smiled. His anger got the best of him momentarily and he lashed out, backhanding her across the face.

She was planning something, but he wasn't going to allow her an opportunity to cause more damage. He was going to make her pay if it was the last thing he did.

"Why are you here?"

Licking the blood from her lip with a smirk, she taunted him with her eyes. "Like I said: to see an old friend."

He struck again, bringing his cane down in her head. She fell back into one of the guards, but didn't give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out in pain.

She righted herself, and gave him another vexing smile.

* * *

This place was all too familiar to her, burned into her memory. One of them sat her down in a cold metal chair that was bolted to the ground, cuffing each hand separately to the back legs. The other picked up one of the large Gas can and began pouring it around the room and making a trail out the door.

"Been planning this for a while?" she teased.

Ilya didn't reply. He stood over her smoking a cigarette, grimly supervising her execution.

"That's a fire hazard."

He laughed then, the manic laugh of a man who's lost everything. He leaned in close, exhaling smoke in her face. "Always so witty." He said, reaching out to caress her smooth cheek. Gathering saliva in her mouth, she launched it at his face.

He pulled back, chuckling. Calmly he shook out a handkerchief and wiped off his face. Without a word he brought his cigarette down toward her, snuffing it out on the soft flesh of her breast.

"see you in hell _moya lyubov'_"

Shortly after they left, the flames came rushing in to embrace her.

Closing her eyes, she saw the faces of those she had tried to help. Liev, crumpling to the ground dead; the little girl, screaming as she burned. Zhenya. Her name was Zhenya.

She was born to death, it was all she was good at, everything she touched she destroyed.

She relaxed against the chair, accepting her fate. It was appropriate that it end here, where it began.

* * *

moya lyubov' = my love

please review! I love hearing what you guys think :)


	15. Damsel in Distress

And Natasha burned to death. The end.

Not actually. That would be mean.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Damn pigheaded fool!_

Clint fumed as he walked down the street.

Clint sighed. What did he expect? She was a covert operative same as him, had been for a long time. It made him sick to think about how young she was when she entered the business. It was the only life she had ever known. Trust issues were part of the territory. Occupational hazard. He was an enemy operative sent to kill her. It really was no wonder she refused his offer. If their positions were reversed, he probably wouldn't believe her either. He wasn't even sure why he bothered trying.

Coulson was always telling him he was too much of an optimist.

What he needed to do right now was find a phone and call in for an extraction. The sooner he could forget about the beautiful and stubborn redheaded who refused to admit she needed help, the better.

Coulson had yelled at him as soon as he came on the line, a testament to how worried he had been. Apparently he'd been missing for over a week.

He'd missed Christmas _and_ New Year's. Perfect.

Apparently the Ukrainians didn't get the message. People were still wishing him Merry Christmas, and as night fell, he saw a group of carolers. It was messing with his head.

He had some time to kill before his ride arrived, so he found a small café and ate his weight in some tasty dumplings and savory pastries. The coffee tasted like shit, but he wasn't going to complain because the waitress was hot and flirted with him as she walked by. Finally things were starting to look up.

With just a half an hour to go, so he to finish off his awful coffee and head out. Gazing out the window, he takes a long draught and nearly chokes.

_Spoke too soon._

There across the street, a very distinct redhead was being led by a group of burly men dressed in black, into an old burned out building.

_Nope. Uh-uh. Not going to happen. She made her bed, she can sleep in it._

Clint gripped at the edge of the table, as if to keep himself from rushing into that building and beating every one of those men to a bloody pulp. She didn't want his help and he had no right to interfere. It was her life, her decision.

Besides, he had twenty-five minutes before he had to be at the rendezvous. If he wasn't there, they'd assume he was compromised, and he'd be on his own for getting back.

"_Bol'she kofe_?" He jumped, knocking his knee painfully against the bottom of the table. The waitress giggled at him as she refilled his coffee for him.

Recovering from his embarrassment at being surprised, he smiled charmingly at her and pointed toward the building across the street. "What's that building there?"

"_staroy bol'nitsky_?...uh…old hospital. Burned down years ago. It vas very sad, many people dead."

"oh"

She left him alone to stare thoughtfully at the decrepit building. Who was he kidding? He wasn't the kind of guy to just walk away from a fight, especially when someone needed help.

The guys came out, sans one redhead, and set up a perimeter around the building. He didn't like it.

_What are they up too?_

Not long after, black smoke began to climb its way into the sky. That was all the motivation he needed. Leaping to his feet, he threw down some bills and sprinted out the door. In his anxiety to get in the building and find her, he didn't pause to think out a plan. He jogged quickly up to the guy at the main entrance.

"Hey!" the guy turned at the sound of Clint's voice, and was rewarded by an unforgiving fist to the face, knocking him to the ground. There was a shout behind him, but he had already raced inside, frantically searching for that damned red-headed pain in the ass.

The air was already heavy with smoke and the building, having already been burned and abandon for years, was collapsing quickly under the heat.

He chose a wing at random, running from room to room.

"Natasha!"

Shit. She wasn't down this way. He had to backtrack, but found the way blocked by the fiery inferno. Steeling himself, he jumped through the flames, rolling when he hit the ground. He came up to his feet gritting his teeth in pain and patting out the flames on his arms. Wasting no time, he sprinted down the next wing.

"Natasha!"

There was no answer. Swearing, he continued his search. He wasn't going to leave without her.

"damn-it Tasha! _Answer me_!" Time was running out.

_Shit. shit. shit._

There was a room near the end of the hall with the door blockaded. On a hunch, he threw himself at it, pulling away the furniture obstructing his way. He threw open the door and sighed in relief. He found her, strapped into a chair and staring into the flames, transfixed by the blaze that danced around her.

Running to her, he grabbed her shoulders and gave a good shake. "Tasha!" it took a moment, but her eyes refocused and she looked at him in confusion.

"What?" her voice was weak and horse from the smoke.

"Hang on! I'm gonna get you out of here sweetheart." He ran his hands over the restraints, evaluating them and looking around for something to use to pick the locks.

"What?" she said again as she fully realized his presence. "no. _no!_ get out!"

He stopped briefly to stare disbelievingly at her. "What is this? Back to plan A? _seriously_?" He was _not_ going to leave her. "I don't think so!"

"Get out!" she repeated fiercely "leave me! Go!"

"Woman! You talkin' crazy!" he ran his hand through her hair, his fingers met blood but also…_bingo!_ He pulled a pin from her hair and set to work on the cuffs, gritting his teeth as he handled the hot metal. "come _on_!"

Finally he had her free and was able to pull her from the chair. She didn't fight him as he tossed her over his shoulders on a fireman's carry, and bolted out the door as the roof caved in.

He exited the burning building by, what he assumed to be, the ambulance bay. The guard made a move to draw his gun, but Clint was faster, firing off a round without looking, never missing a step. He walked with a determined pace for several blocks before finding a secluded place to set her down. When he laid her down on the pavement, he found she wasn't breathing.

Fuck

"Don't you _dare_." He placed his mouth firmly on hers, delivering a couple full breathes. She began coughing a choking and rolled onto her side away from him. He sat back on his heels, sagging in relief. Instead of hitting him or yelling at him, her face crumpled and she sobbed uncontrollably. Shocked be her unexpected break down, all he could do was gather her into his arms and hold her while heart wrenching sobs racked her body. In her grief she turned her face into his shoulder and dug her nails into his skin.

By the time she had calmed down, Clint had missed his ride by twenty minutes.

She seemed almost catatonic, allowing him to lead her around like a small child. Holding her closely to his side, he led her down the street to a small clinic that had closed down for the night. He picked the lock and pulled her into an examine room, easily lifting her onto the table. He made her take a twenty minute breathing treatment while he, cleaned her split lip, tended to both of their burns, and clumsily sutured the wound on her head

He gently laid her back on the table and set her up with some oxygen. "Stay here okay? I'll be back in a little while," She nodded mutely; all the fight had gone out of her. He dropped a tender kiss to her forehead before leaving her there.

It took him a couple of hours, but he managed to arrange for the authorities to discover a burnt corpse of Natasha's approximate height, age, and weight, in the rubble. An arrow embedded in its eye socket. A DNA match would be near impossible. He sent off a report to shield that he knew could be hacked, detailing the demise of the Black Widow, before returning to the clinic. It wouldn't hold up under much scrutiny, but at least it would slow down those who were chasing her.

* * *

**Just a friendly reminder to review please and thank you. :) I check for reviews like a crack addict. It's pretty sad…**


	16. Born on Christmas Day

For the third time in as many weeks, Natasha woke to find Clint sitting across from her. Only this time there drug induced hangover or handcuffs and he was not alert and armed waiting for her to awake. Instead, his head was tilted back against the wall and he was lightly dozing. He snapped awake as she sat up; suddenly alert and all traces of sleep gone from his eyes.

He smiled at her unexpectedly. "so…what do you think about working for SHIELD? I mean sure, the pay is shit, like any government job, but the benefits are pretty damn good."

The man just would not give up.

She elected to ignore him for the moment, rolling her neck and stretching out her sore muscles. Her throat was tender and there was something tickling her nose. She pulled the nasal cannula from her face and tossed it away from her in irritation.

She heard a low snigger and leveled a glare at Clint. It only made him laugh harder, so she threw a box of gloves at him. Raised an arm to protect his face, and gave her an amused smile.

"I'll have you know, I missed my ride because of you." He said accusingly, but he wasn't serious. "I managed to make it look like you might have died in that fire, so it'll give you a head start at the very least. And now," he stood up and stretched as he addressed her, "we have a train to catch. I won't force you to come into SHIELD with me, but I am getting you out of this city."

He was determined, she could see in his stance and his expression. He wasn't going to take no for an answer.

She sighed in resignation. What did it matter? Dead here or dead there? Dead was dead.

"fine." She stood up and breezed past him and out door, leaving him there to deal with shock. He had probably been prepared to drag her kicking and screaming. She poked her head back into the examine room, "you coming?"

Dawn was just breaking as they caught a train north out of the Crimea, and stowed away in freight car. They sat across from each other, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. The silence between them was anything but comfortable.

After a time, the cold got the better of her. She fucking hated being cold and it didn't help that her skirt was so short. People say stupid things about Russians and cold. Sure she could deal with it, but that didn't mean she liked to. So she crawled over to him and pressed her freezing body into his side for warmth. He stiffened at her touch, and then shifted away from her.

Getting the message, she moved to put distance between them once again; only to him pull her back to him.

She stared at him, perplexed as he laid his coat over her bare legs and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her close again. He had only pulled away so he could shrug off his coat.

_Oh_

They settled back into their uncomfortable silence for a while until Clint decided to break it,

"My brother and I used to ride the trains around all the time when we were younger…" apparently the silence was getting to him because he chattered on for a while. He shared a story about him and his brother getting caught jumping trains, and some time when they ran away from a foster home. She simply dropped her head onto his shoulder and pretended to sleep, hoping it would make him shut up. It didn't.

"…then we up and joined the circus."

"_Tsirk urod._ Why am I not surprised?" the words came out before she could stop them. He chuckled at her and she looked up to find him looking back at her with a self-satisfied smirk like he'd won a prize. She rolled her eyes and settled her head against his shoulder once again.

They switched trains a few times and eventually wound up at the Hungarian border. From there they stole a car to drive over the border and into Budapest. They arrived at the SHIELD field office in the late the next day. Clint paused as he opened the door to gauge whether or not she was actually going to follow him in. She strolled past him and into the building without a word.

* * *

She knew his boss was not going to be happy with him for bringing her in, and judging from the muffled bellowing coming from the other room; she was going to end this day with a bullet in her head.

As soon as Clint had explained the situation, she had been handcuffed and bagged, which was never a pleasant experience. Usually these kinds of people weren't too concerned with their prisoner's comfort so the bags were rarely ever washed and SHIELD was no exception. They drove her around for a while in an attempt to confuse her but it really wasn't necessary. She didn't care enough to pay attention where they were going.

They took her to some underground facility outside the city. One of those shiny, state of the art bases with concrete walls, bright lights, and fancy labs. A man, whom she assumed to be Clint's superior, had met them when they arrived. Clint greeted him with familiarity.

"Coulson! She followed me home. Can I keep her?" were the first words out of his mouth; a shit eating grin firmly in place. He smacked the guy on the shoulder as he walked past not waiting for a reply. Coulson's expression or lack thereof, said he was used to Clint's antics. She had to wonder how much the guy got paid to deal with him on a regular basis.

She had expected to be thrown into an interrogation room and left for hours. Instead she found herself waiting in a hallway being babysat by Coulson while Clint got a severe talking to about bring home enemy operatives.

Coulson was hard to read, but she could tell she made him uncomfortable; his hand was twitching like he was resisting the urge to draw his firearm.

The meeting went on late into the night. Finally Clint emerged with a jolly grin plastered across his face, followed by a stern faced officer who didn't look so pleased.

"Miss Romanov, my name is Jason Parke. I am the director of operations for this base. You will be assigned quarters and for the time being, will only be permitted to the mess hall, the training levels, medical, and your personal quarters. There will be an armed guard escorting you or posted outside your quarters until such a time that I am convinced of the sincerity of your defection. Breakfast is at 0730 and you will report to the training level, gym 08 by 0800 so your skills can be assessed. "

"Just like that?"

"yep" Clint responded brightly.

Well, she hadn't seen that one coming.

"I'm sure I don't have to detail for you what will happen if you step out of line. Understood?" Parke added."You're dismissed, both of you."

Clint took that as his que to pull her down the hallway, supposedly toward her quarters. A female agent was waiting outside the door. She gave Clint a warm smile that quickly turned to ice when her eyes fell on Natasha.

"There are clean clothes in the drawers and the showers are at the end of the hall if you want to get cleaned up. Beyond that, you are to stay in your room until breakfast." She addressed Natasha cooly, looking down her nose at her.

_Like _you _could stop me if I wanted to leave_. Natasha mused darkly.

Clint gave her a bright smile, "This is going to be great, just you wait and see." She didn't share his enthusiasm. He gave her a thumb-up as she shut the door behind her. Leaning against it, she took in her room. It was small, but clean. She'd had worse, much worse.

The clock read 12:23, January 7th. Christmas day.

* * *

So, I didn't actually intend for them to end up in Budapest. It just sorta happened…

I was actually gonna end it here, and tack on an epilogue, but a plot bunny kind jumped out of nowhere and savagely attacked me…

Tsirk urod = circus freak


	17. Schoolyard

Man I love my readers :) especially the ones who review. You guys are great.

* * *

Back straight. Toes pointed. Deep breath.

Natasha lifted her back leg to a 45 degree angle and carefully held it for a second, relishing in the pull of her muscles. A front walkout took her to the very end of the beam. Breathing deeply, eyes closed and relaxed. She jumped back and did a half twist into a front handspring; a perfect onodi. A back walkout returned her to the end of the beam.

Running to the end of the beam, one foot in front of the other she punched off, did a double flip and stuck the landing.

She loved this; feeling each muscle coil and spring, being in complete control of her body. They kept a tight hold on her, keeping her busy from breakfast to bed. Watching her every move. But in the early morning hours was her time to do as she pleased.

Little miss attitude was trying not to glare like a jealous little child. Her name was Gomez or Garcia, something like that. Natasha hadn't cared enough to remember everyone's name.

Babysitting Natasha had quickly become a punishment. Especially when it became painfully clear that none of them would stand a chance in hand to hand combat with Natasha. Little miss was a great fighter, but she also liked to sass her superior trainers.

Pulling on some lose sweat pants, she lead her miserable guard out of the gym toward the mess hall for a quiet breakfast. Clint had been the only one who spoke to her unnecessarily, but he'd been shipped out by the end of their first day here. She wasn't sure if she liked the peace and quiet or not.

Her first full day here was spent in medical, being poked and prodded by doctors. They took blood samples, hair samples, and God knows what else. She knew they weren't going to find anything particularly interesting her blood word unless that knew what to look for. At least these doctors asked polite before jabbing a needle into her arm and didn't attempt to drug her.

Clint hung around as much as the doctor would allow, trying to make conversation, cracking jokes, and flirting with the nurses. He was annoying, but at least he helped keep things interesting. He was also the only one not watching her every move suspiciously or asking probing personal questions.

Parke and Coulson had been less than happy with the intelligence she was able to provide about the Red Room. They didn't like to keep their agent in the loop as much as SHIELD did. More often than not, she didn't know the reasons behind and assassination she was assigned to carry out.

The disk she had Liev would have gone a long way to smooth things over, but it had been lost when she tried to protect him. She had barely managed to procure it without anyone noticing and had never bothered to memorize it. She had expected to be dead and Liev to be the one in SHIELD custody.

They began her with the most basic drills. Target practice, obstacle courses, sparing, child's play really. Red Room training was a lot less forgiving. The last few days she found herself sparing with the old man who taught the advanced hand to hand combat classes. Apparently she'd managed to scare off all the agents-in-training and their trainers. Honestly it really wasn't her that one of them tried to pull some bullshit move and wound up with his arm broken in two places.

Today he was running her through some acrobatics. The more impressive moves which she actually had the training and flexibility to pull off, unlike_ some_ people.

"I want you to try that thigh hold move you used the other day against Gambos." He spread his feet, getting better footing as he prepared for his attract. It wouldn't help him.

She nodded, and moved in for the attack, launching herself into the air. She'd done the move a thousand times, every time her opponent found themselves on the ground and she'd never met anyone who could counter it.

He moved to avoid it, but he had telegraphed his intent and she had already corrected for it. Her legs wrapped easily around his neck, but before she could bring him down that bastard sat down. Just plopped down onto the ground, taking away all of her leverage.

He easily took advantage of her momentary surprise and had her flat on her back and pinned. She easily turned the tables on him knocking him in the stomach with her elbow and had him flat on his back in no time.

He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing, "good recovery, now let's figure out how you could have done that better."

He had been carefully watching her all week, taking note of the moves she liked to use. He challenged her to find other ways to get the same results and to avoid falling into the same predictable patterns. For the first time in a long while, she was actually learning. It was actually quite fun.

She liked this trainer, he reminded her of someone she knew a long time ago. Someone who took the time to teach her, who challenged her to think for herself, and mentored her.

* * *

Ten days was all it took.

The defected Russian easily conquered every field test there was for trainees short if the weeklong wilderness survival simulation, Parke wasn't comfortable with setting her loose off base for a week by herself. The instructors were forced to get creative when they ran out of things to throw at her, it almost edged on persecution.

But Natasha took on each challenge without complaint. In fact, she seemed to be the only one not to utter a complaint. Wild rumors spread around the base about her. One of the more ridiculous ones said she was infected with nanites that spread to anyone she touched. In a week the entire base seemed to be reduced to a high school.

It was embarrassing really. Grown, _professional,_ men and women reverted to petty teenagers.

Parke, thankfully, was able to keep a lid on the worst of it. He wasn't terribly happy about her presence on base, but he was both stern and fair, he wouldn't punish Natasha unless she actually did something to warrant it.

Coulson was rather impressed with the amount of control she displayed. Perhaps she got enough satisfaction from knocking them on their asses during sparing matches.

He observed as she ran through drills with Weiss, the senior trainer. Ex-special forces, now a grumpy old man, Weiss seemed to be the only person unfazed by Natasha's past as a deadly assassin for the other side, Coulson included. No one wanted to spar with her anymore, and most of the trainers were even avoiding having to work with her. Not Weiss. Over the last few days he taken it upon himself to keep her busy and assess her abilities.

He also seemed to be the only one able to give the girl any criticism. He managed to find something wrong with everything she did.

The entire base had been on edge since Barton brought her in.

"Alright, what'd she do? Bite somebody?"

Speak of the devil.

The arrogant bastard came up beside him to lean leisurely against the railing of the observation balcony.

"Barton, welcome back. How was Dubai?"

Clint scrunched up his nose. "Miserably hot and dusty. And you know how much I love babysitting a corrupt politician while he takes his favorite call girl shopping. Do you have any idea how much it sucks to be caught outside during a sandstorm? I got sand in all up in my-"

Coulson smacked him in the back of the head.

"ow! Jeez! You asked! Why ask if you don't actually want to know?"

"Too much information Barton!"

"No such thing in the intelligence business." Clint added, earning him another smack. "ow! There's gotta be a rule against abusing your agents. I'm gonna file a complaint. "

"Let me know how that works out for you."

Clint grumbled under his breath, something about the brass having it out for him. Coulson rolled his eyes.

Clint let out a puff of air. "So why am I here? Not that I'm complaining-because Dubai sucked- but as far as I can tell she's handling herself beautifully and hasn't caused any trouble."

"Not directly. You're here for everyone else's piece of mind. She's got the entire base wound up, and it will ease people's minds if there is someone around who can handle her." Clint snorted. "So you are being assigned to train with her."

"So what's everyone gonna think when she wiped the floor with me like she's been doing to everyone else?"

"You brought her in."

Clint laughed, "Only cause she _let_ me."

"If this moves sideways on us, and it more than likely will, it's your ass on the line." Clint didn't seem to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

"You think Fury made a bad call by letting her stay?"

Coulson looked down toward the woman, watching thoughtfully as she and Weiss circled each other. He had a terrible feeling in his gut about this. The woman brought trouble with her.

"You can't tell me it never crossed your mind that maybe she set this all up? That she wanted to get in here? Do you have any idea what kind of damage she could do just being allowed on base?"

Clint followed his gaze, watching her graceful moves, almost like a dance. He'd bet dollars to donuts she was an incredible dancer.

"Naw." He said after a moment. Coulson's head whipped around to stare at him in disbelief. "_Relax_, it'll all work out. You worry too much. Just wait and see." He gave his handler a firm smack on the shoulder as he walked away to make his way down to the gym to report for his ass kicking.

* * *

Coulson wasn't joking when he described the base as a high school. Like a kid at the bottom of a food chain, Natasha was sitting at a table by herself, reading something while she ate. Clint watched as Weiss came up and seated himself across from her. She didn't acknowledge him, but he didn't seem to mind. He dug into his food enthusiastically and looked up to meet the eyes of people around them as he caught them staring.

Clint smirked, he liked this guy. Grabbing his own food, he ambled over to her and plopped down next to her. She didn't acknowledge him either. Not one to be ignored, he bumped his shoulder against hers.

"My bruises have bruises because of you."

She shot him an annoyed look. Success.

"Maybe if you spent less time taunting me and more time actually fighting me, you wouldn't have wound up on your backside quite so much." She quirked an eyebrow at him briefly and then returned to her reading.

"How's your week been? Are the other kids nice? Have you made any friends?" she dutifully ignored him, so he put his hand in front of her reading. "Come on, admit it. You missed me." She said, wiggling his eyebrows she her.

She closed her book and turned a scathing glare on him, he gave her a wide grin in return. It had kind of become their thing: he'd say something stupid, she'd glare at him, he'd grin like an idiot, and then…

"_ow!"_

Without him noticing, she managed to bring the book up behind him and thumped him on the head. She casually returned to her reading like nothing had happened, but he was certain she was biting her cheek a tad to hide a smile. It was worth it.

Weiss was smirking at him, the closest he ever got to laughing, "I think that's the most she's said all week."

Then, to Clint's amazement, Weiss and Natasha _shared a look_. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Natasha's mouth quirked up ever so slightly for a millisecond, and then it was gone.

What the hell was that all about?

"I'm gone a _week_ and you replace me as your best friend?" his face was the perfect picture of betrayal.

She rolled her eyes, biting her cheek again.

* * *

Does anyone else live in constant fear that the next chapter they write won't make sense, or will just plain suck? Or is it just me?


	18. Withdrawal

Man, my readers are so AWESOME! I wish I could give you all a hug! 3

* * *

Another two weeks passed and the atmosphere of the base didn't improve any. He didn't know if it was pride, or her not wanting to seem weak, or something else, but Natasha wouldn't let up. Every time they were on the mat together, she found some way to put him down, and people were noticing.

Their matches had quickly become a spectacle. He was one of the few who could last quite a while against her, but so far hadn't managed to definitively win a match. He'd manage to get her cornered or pinned, and she'd pull a dirty trick to get out of it. Fighting dirty wasn't against the sparring rules, they were spies after all, but you did have to know how to do them without severely injuring your opponent. Natasha had exquisite control over her body.

Surely she had to know that if something didn't change soon, Fury might decide she was more trouble than she was worth. At this rate, no one was going to be able to be teamed up with her for a mission. In the field, you had to trust your teammates to have your back or the mission wouldn't be a disaster. Briefly Clint wondered if maybe that was what she wanted.

Clint gave it his best effort to win at least once. One loss under her belt would go a long way to easing the tension on base He'd only bested her in Sao Paulo because she gave up, and in Simferopol' he had the advantage if a sedative and dumb luck, plus the added desperation of fighting stark naked. But perfectly healthy, well rested, and determined, she was a hell of a lot harder to land a blow on.

Weiss helped him out as much as he could, running them through more short drills and avoiding full out sparing matches. Weiss helped him develop new moves to counter Natasha better; but he still wasn't able to best her and she refused to cooperate.

He tried to take to her about it at dinner, but she ignored him while she idly pushed her food around her plate. She'd been like this all day, completely unresponsive.

So he showed up at her door after curfew intending to give her a stern talking to. The poor gut assigned to stand guard at her door looked utterly terrified. The kid jumped at Clint's quiet arrival, sputtering and snapping to attention.

Clint casually waved him off and knocked loudly. After a moment the was still not answer, so he pounded harder. Still no answer.

Growling impatiently, he entered Coulson's security code (which he wasn't supposed to know) and unlocked the door himself. Feeling he had given her plenty of warning, he barged in.

"This is redicu-"

The room was empty.

_Oh shit._

"uh…" he awkwardly pulled the door shut. The guard was looking at him curiously. Shit. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "she's uh…asleep…keep up the good work." He patted the guy on the shoulder, and then attempted to walk calmly away.

His mind raced through all the things she could possibly doing running around the base unsupervised. She could buy a lot of friends with precious information stolen from SHIELD, and a fearsome reputation if she found a way to level on if its bases. Perhaps he was a fool to try to bring her in, to think she could change.

Casually, he walked through the command center and other key points, eyes carefully scanning for any sign of her. Rafters, air vents, anywhere she might conceal herself. He found no trace of her. If an alarm went up, they would kill her on sight.

Swallowing his panic, he retrieved his bow and quiver and took to his high places, where he could better see.

On the top floor of the base, there was a large arena that was only used a couple times a year for massive combat simulations. One of the windows near the ceiling had a substantial crack in it (which Clint had nothing to do with). He found her there, high up in the rafters, with her back to that window.

He hadn't seen her with her hair down in a while but now it fell about her shoulders, back lit by the moon, giving her a pale red halo. Her face was cast in shadow, but he could tell that her eyes were closed and her face was completely relaxed. He knew she was beautiful, but this was the first time he'd seen her without a mask since her breakdown outside the hospital. She wasn't coolly indifferent or sultry and sexy. She was simply pretty.

Relieved, he made his way toward her. He was certain now that SHIELD had nothing to fear from her, unless they made the first move. She opened her eyes as he silently approached, following him as he crouched down next her.

"Natasha?"

"Hm?" she looked away, turning to gaze out the window.

"What are you doing here?" he asked softly.

"Are you going to report me?" she asked in return, tracing a design with her finger along the glass.

"No" he sighed, "I mean…Why did you come into SHIELD with me?"

She gave a minute smile, "because you vould not leave me alone" guess she didn't really know herself.

He sighed, "Natasha, you gotta try and-"

"Make friends? Aren't they expecting me to pretend? To be nice and try to gain their trust? It is pointless" couldn't argue with that.

"You gotta give people something."

"vhy do you care?" Her native accent colored her words. For the first time, Clint noticed sheen of sweat across her forehead and she looked tired, like she had not slept in days. She did not look well.

"Natasha," he reached out to run his knuckles along her cheek, but she flinched away, avoiding his gaze. Her hands were shaking. "Are you okay?"

Detecting his gaze, she fisted her hands tightly at her side.

"I'm fine" she said tersely. He didn't believe her. She stood so abruptly, he almost lost his balance. Gazing up at her, he found her mask back in place; her face was hard as marble.

He started to say something but she cut him off with a harsh tone, "Good night" and then quickly walked along the beam, teetering uncharacteristically. He followed her carefully to make sure she got down alright, and then trusted her to get back to her room.

* * *

The next morning she didn't show up to breakfast. He assumed she just trying to avoid him. But then she didn't show up to the gym afterwards. It wasn't like her. She was nothing if not professional. She might skip breakfast to avoid him, but she always showed up for assessments on time.

After twenty minutes of waiting, he took off for the barracks.

When he arrived, the kid from last night was standing there staring at the door, obviously debating whether or not to knock and risk the Widow's wrath. Clint brushed him aside and punched in the code to open the door. The room was tidy and empty.

"Where'd she go?" he heard the kid exclaim behind him.

Clint stepped further inside. He couldn't believe she didn't come back.

There was a faint whimper behind him. In the corner behind the open door she was huddled with her knees pulled up to her chest and staring off into space.

Damnit! He knew she wasn't alright last night.

He dropped to his knees in front of her. She was shaking like a leaf and her skin was hot to the touch. "Natasha?" she didn't respond. He cursed.

"Alert medical." he commanded the guard and then turned back to Natasha. When he tried to slip an arm under her knees and behind her back, she whimpered and pulled away, pressing into the wall as if trying to disappear into it. "Shh, hey Tasha, it's just me." He murmured.

Slowly, he was able to coax her into his arms so he could lift her. She dug her nails into his skin as she grasped the front of his shirt and buried her face in his shoulder. People stared open mouthed as he carried her to the medical bay but he was beyond caring what they thought. His only thought was Natasha.


	19. Leash

Holy crap it's been soooo long since I've updated, like a week. Sorry for the long wait. School got in the way. I swear there should a law against stressing students out the first week of a semester.

Hope you like it! Hopefully the next chapter will be along shortly.

* * *

"_Natalia!"_

The man sounded distant, like she was underwater. She groaned, squeezing shut her eyes and turning away from the unpleasant voice; her head hurt and it was far too early. Was it too much to ask for just another hour of sleep?

"_ukhoditʹ_" she buried her head into the pillow. The white hot pain between her eyes was unbearable. _Leave me alone!_

"_Natalia! prosnutʹsya_!" an iron vice clamped around her arm and yanked her from her bed. She was thrown to the cold hard ground. She opened her eyes, intent on kicking the guy's ass, but immediately regretted it.

Nothing made sense. Instead of coming face to face with an assailant, she was alone in a room that leaned to the left unnaturally. It was disorienting.

Her vision swam and the ground shifted beneath her, writhing and moving as if alive. She looked down to discover thousands of tiny spiders, black as sin, crawling their way up her body. A strangled scream tore from her throat as she desperately clawed at her skin.

It was undignified, some part of her mind tried to tell her. She _always_ maintained her composure, no matter the situation._ Grit your teeth and push forward._

But she's just a child? Isn't she? Small and afraid. This isn't a place for children…

The ground shifted again, becoming hard frozen snow beneath her feet. She was running, hard and fast. Her feet were numb and bleeding, it felt like pins and needles being pushed into her skin, and she couldn't breathe.

She had to stop. Had to catch her breathe. But she couldn't. She had no control. On and on she ran through an endless frozen wasteland.

The world tilted again and spun, like a nightmarish merry-go-round. She had always hated them as a child. Why would anyone want to spin around until they threw up?

She was going to be sick.

Night terror and memory melted together. She could no longer discern up from down. And she couldn't fucking_ breathe_. She was choking. Suffocating.

_Oh God!_

Icy fingers held her, squeezing the life out of her; bringing her to the edge of death and then releasing her just long enough to deny her the relief of oblivion.

Dead here or dead there. Dead is dead.

The fire would have been better.

* * *

It didn't make any sense.

SHILD was very thorough, especially when dealing with someone as volatile as the Black Widow. If she'd been on anything when she came in, it should have shown up on the tox screen. Plus she'd been on base for nearly a month, so she should have gone into withdrawal a lot sooner. There was no possible way she could have gotten ahold of anything, they only had a small pharmacy on base and inventory hadn't turned up anything missing.

Yet here she was, lying sedated in a hospital bed, pale as death. Red streaks on her arms and neck stood out against her white skin. He had barely stepped through the doors with her in his arms when she suddenly went rigid. For a moment it seemed the whole world had gone deathly silent.

Then a horrible scream pierced the air, and she struggled and twisted violent in his arms. She dug her nails into his skin, drawing blood. He got a knee to the nose before he finally decided to drop her kegs to the ground and focus on restraining her arms. She had started to tear at her own flesh with her nails, screaming and sobbing.

By the time the medical personnel had jumped into to assist and succeed in sedating her, he was covered in her blood.

It had been horrific.

To make matters even worse, people were being fucking ridiculous.

He stuck around while they stabilized her and tool blood to do some tests, and then sat with her for a while. He left to grab a shower, change his clothes, and get some coffee. He came back to find a couple of probies standing in her room gawking. They look both frightened and guilty

He dragged them out of the room by their collars, threatened them till they looked rely to piss their pants, and then slammed the door in their faces.

_Jesus_

It probably wouldn't have pissed him off so much if it were just the probies trying to catch a glimpse. Probies were probies. But all day people were strolling through medical who had no business to be there. Instructors, handlers, field agents. He could understand people's reservation about trusting an enemy spy, but shit, she was a_ human being_ not a circus freak show! What the hell was the matter with these people?

So he parked himself in a chair at her bedside and glowered at the door whenever it opened, intent on making sure only those who were supposed to be there were admitted. That was how Coulson found him.

"You're scaring the nurses." Coulson stated, casually paging through a file, a hesitant doctor followed behind him.

Clint didn't reply, choosing instead to look over Natasha once more. Her breathing was slow and steady, the heart monitor beat out a steady rhythm, and her face was completely relaxed. She looked completely at peace, but it was only a drug induced illusion. No drug could protect her from her own mind, her dreams. They could hardly manage to make a dent in her fever. Her body seemed intent on killing her.

"Good news. They think they've discovered what's causing all this." Clint perked up at that, giving Coulson his full attention.

"yeah? And what's that?"

Coulson pulled a picture from the file and handed it to Clint, "two years ago the CIA got a walk in. He gave his name as Jan Yenotin and claimed to be an agent of the Red Room, a Russian covert agency that went rogue after the fall of the Soviet Union. The same one that pulled the springs of the Black Widow before you brought her in. Before he could provide any intel, he started to exhibit the same symptoms; chills, fever, hallucinations, paranoia... textbook drug withdrawal. Dr. Bergt," he gesture to the doctor, "compared her blood work with his and found traces of the same unknown substance in both patients, it was initially overlooked in both cases."

"It's difficult to detect of you're not looking for it," the doctor cut in. "it was only a fluke that the lab techs found it in Yenotin. Unfortunately, no one here knew about him at the time we did Ms. Romanoff's examination. I stumble on the file when I went looking in the database for anything to do with the Red Room that might explain her condition. If I had to venture a guess I'd say it's some kind of performance enhancing drug."

Clint stared down at the photograph, "you said good news. What's the bad news?"

Never one to pull any punches, Coulson came right out and said it. "He died within 48 hours."

Fuck.

"It's a leash. Cut and run, and you are as good as dead." Clint said distastefully.

"We don't know that. It could just be severe withdrawal. Severe, but survivable. Yenotin was in much in a much worse condition when he came in. Natasha was perfectly healthy, and has received excellent health care and a healthy diet. She has an impressive physique. She's built strong, I'm confident she'll pull through."

It was just wishful thinking. Fucking doctor didn't know anything. He hadn't seen Natasha in Sao Paulo, surrendering herself to what she thought was going to be a death blow, or sitting there in the burning hospital inviting the flames to consume her. If she had no will to live, what did it matter if she had excellent medical care or a strong body?

He turned to look down at her prone form. She was a shell of a person. An abused child who'd already written herself off as worthless; she thought she was better off dead.

_Why do you care? _She'd asked him.

There are some people in life that you meet and you know instantly that there is something different about them, something special. A spark that draws you in like a moth to a flame. Someone had tried to stamp out that spark in her, but it's also the reason they wanted her in the first place. She had talent and charm. Now it was barely there. A faint glimmer in a sea of hurt and betrayal, but it was _still there_ despite everything; and it had caught Clint's attention.

He sat down on the bed next to her and threaded his fingers through hers, gazing down at her tenderly. Behind him the doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably and excused himself from the room. Coulson stayed.

Clint didn't have to turn to see the man clench his jaw. He could practically hear his handler's thoughts. He was thinking that Clint had gotten himself in to deep. He allowed himself to be charmed by a pretty girl, and when she was gone, Coulson was going to have to pick up the pieces.

Clint didn't care. She wasn't going to die. He wasn't going to let her. He didn't drag her out of that fucking burning building to let her die now. Truth be told, just like when he saw that black smoke rising from the hospital, he couldn't help himself, he acted without thinking.

He laid his other hand across her forehead that still burned hot, and skimmed his fingers down her cheek. "I'm not going to make this easy for you." He said softly, "You don't get to just give up."

he stayed there late into the night. Holding her hand as if he could keep her alive by sheer force of will.

* * *

Right so before anyone asks, I'm not going to translate the Russian in this chapter. It's really not that important to know, plus the context gives you a pretty good idea I think.

On another note, I'm worried that I might be leaving things out or under explaining. I fear that what's happening in my head may not make it all into words, so if anything is confusing, please let me know! And I'll find a way to fix it.

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review if you like it!...or even if you don't. I LOVE hearing from everyone, it makes my day.


	20. safe and sound

Jeez! All ya'll jumped on that last chapter like white on rice. Wow…just wow.

Thanks guys! I love you all so, so much! 3

* * *

Clint jolted awake when someone kicked the leg of his chair.

"huh? Wha-" He sat up straight, looking about to get his bearings. Weiss stood over him holding a cup of coffee and a book, looking wholly unimpressed with Clint's reaction.

"Aren't you supposed to be some badass assassin? You let an old man like me take you by surprise? Boy, SHIELD sure has lowered its standards."

Clint groaned, stretching out his muscles and rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. "What time is it?" he stifled a yawn.

"Late."

Clint stood to further stretch, and then quickly moved to Natasha's side to check her over. She was still pale as a ghost, and his palm against her head informed him that he fever still hadn't broken. He cursed under his breath, for all his talk he was at a loss for how to help her. The doctors of SHIELD, the best in their fields didn't know what to do. What help could a burned out carnie do?

"Thought you could use a break." Weiss's gruff voice cut into his reverie.

"Thanks." Clint ran a hand through his hair and gratefully reached for the cup of coffee.

Weiss pulled it away. "This is mine. You want some coffee? Go got it yourself."

Clint looked taken aback, he hadn't expected that. "And while you're at it, go get something to eat. You've been sitting on your ass in here all day. I bet you haven't eaten since breakfast, and we all know you're a bottomless pit."

Clint stared, dumfounded, as Weiss stole his seat and produced a pair of reading glasses. He cracked the book open and squinted at the page, and read off a few sentences in Russian like an old grandfather reading to a sick child.

He paused to look up at Clint, raising an eyebrow and making a shooing motion with is hand before resuming the story. Clint slowly recovered from his shock, shaking his head slightly and headed for the door.

"Some deodorant wouldn't go amiss either." Weiss added without looking up from the book. Clint had a small smile as he made his way to the mess hall.

Turns out it wasn't late, it was early. The halls were practically deserted, for which he was grateful. One snide look or remark from someone and he was liable to break their nose. He'd never been stationed at the Hungarian base for any long term assignment, so he didn't know many people, but they pretty much all knew who he was. Hawkeye, ace marksman and legendary pain in the ass.

They had been fairly welcoming to him, but their attitudes toward Natasha quickly got on his nerves. He didn't expect them to be her friend, but they could at least play nice and try to be genuinely polite. Their reaction to her condition was the last fucking straw. If…when she recovered, he was gonna convince Coulson to transfer both of them to the base in New York or Washington.

He stopped by the mess hall to grab something to munch on. Foregoing the mug, he took the entire coffee pot with him back to Natasha's room. One of the medical personnel along the way looked like they had a mind to prevent him from going in, as it was long after visiting hours and he wasn't family, but must have thought better of it at the last second. It not that Clint was actively trying to be intimidating, that's just the way his face was. That, and everyone knew he wasn't one to take "no" for an answer.

He seated himself on the side table next to Natasha with his feet propped up on the edge of her bed. He settled in, content to munch while Weiss continued to read out loud in Russian. He didn't understand most of it, Russian was not his best language, but Weiss's voice was soothing, his inflection somehow painting the story and making the actual word irrelevant. It was almost a perfect moment.

He glanced down at Natasha. Now if only she'd open her damn eyes, if just for a moment to level one of her frightening glare at him, it'd be all the reassurance he needed.

* * *

She's not afraid of the dark. It has been a friend of hers for a long time, protecting her and allowing her to do her job, her _duty_. Can't be afraid of things that go bump in the night, not when they're your own kin.

But there was a time, a long time ago, when she was afraid, back before she had understood the kind of power she wielded. Here, time had no definition and the darkness never ended. One moment she was grown, strong and unshakable. Next, she was a tiny child, gifted in dancing and little else. The inky blackness easily overwhelms that child.

Dawn finally broke over the barren wasteland. The cold night had been unbearable; she thought for certain she would die. _Umnaya devushka_, clever girl they called her. She worked hard and sought only to please, but if they were they never showed it.

There was a howl in the distance, drawing a whimper from the small girl. She clamped her hands over her mouth, but it didn't matter, they had her scent and had been following her all night.

There were stories about wolves and little girls in red.

All of a sudden there she was staring one down. Its lips pulled back to reveal a gruesome smile and let out a frightening growl. She ran for it, bounding to the nearest tree and scrambling up its branches. It chased her, snarling and snapping at her. Sobbing, she clung to the tree for dear life.

A gunshot rang through the air, and the wolf fell to the ground and didn't move again. A figure appeared in a heavy coat and ushanka, carrying a hunting rifle. A few more shots were fired off, felling another wolf and frightening off the rest.

"You can come down now little one, it's quite safe now." she eyed him wearily and didn't move a muscle. She wasn't going to go back; they would have to drag her kicking and screaming.

"Have you been out here all night?" she remained silent, looking down on him from her perch. He looked around, searching for where she might have come from. "Do you live around here?" still no response. "well…I've a warm fire and some fresh meat back home. You're welcome to some of it." he took a moment, looking up at her from under his thick grey eyebrows. "It's not far from here, just a mile or so that way." he added, jerking his head to indicate the direction.

He started in the direction of his home, pausing to look back at her. She still had not budged. Sighing, he continued on. When he was nearly out of sight, she dropped from the tree. He paused mid-step, as if he heard her, and she froze. He continued on again without looking back. If she had been able to see his face, she would have seen a small smile pull at his lips.

She followed at a distance; ready to run at the slightest hint he might be trying to lure her back. He led her to a cozy little cabin with smoke climbing up from the chimney. The thought of a warm fire made her realize just how cold she was. Her fingers and toes had gone numb and at the thought of a hot meal her stomach grumbled audibly.

He left the door open as he entered and she crept up to it to peer inside. The man pulled off his outer layers and produced a roast from the oven. She took a couple steps in, relishing in the heat and eyeing the knife he used to carve the meat.

He gave her a friendly smile when he noticed her standing in the doorway. "shut the door little one, you're letting out all the warm air." she glanced outside toward the cold unwelcoming tundra, and then back at the warm fireplace, weighing her options.

What harm would there be in staying to warm up? Eat a meal and swipe some provisions, possibly a map. She'd lost her way in the dark and if she wanted to survive she needed to know where she was going.

She moved toward the fireplace, keeping distance between her and the man. She peeled off her gloves and held out her hands to the fire. Its warmth was delicious and she allowed her eyes to slide closed and a happy sigh slipped out.

He pressed a plate full of warm meat into her hands and sat down in an arm chair and acceptable distance away to eat his own food. She looked down at the food cautiously.

"Eat little one."

She nibbled on it experimentally, and finding it tolerable, tucked in with gusto. He let her eat a second and third helping. With her tummy full and the feeling returned to her extremities, sleep began to pull at her. She had spent the last two days avoiding search parties and wolves, running on adrenaline alone, now she was all out of gas.

Her host pulled out a book and began to read softly. The rhythm of his words lulled her to sleep. For the first time in a long while, she slept peacefully and woke feeling warm and safe.

* * *

Her fingers twitched slightly within his grasp, causing Clint to return all four legs of his chair back on the ground. He turned in his chair to look at her face, and to his amazement, found crystal blue eyes staring back at him


	21. Relief

Ugh, sorry it took so long. I had to work all weekend and had no time to write, which was super frustrating because I knew exactly what I wanted to do.

On another note, this story has hit 100 reviews! I may have sealed a little bit…okay a lot.

You guys are so wonderful, without you I would have given up a loooon g time ago. So thank you!

* * *

Clint couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. She was awake!

The second night had been the worst. Her fever climbed dangerously high, and she went into convulsions. It had looked more and more like she might not last till morning. A doctor arrived from the states in the middle of the night, some expert in something; Clint hadn't really paid much attention to her. Coulson brought her in and she wasn't the friendliest of people and tried to kick him and Weiss out, but neither one of them would budge.

She was the kind of scientist that was more interested in solving the puzzle rather than helping the person. Well, whatever she did, it had helped and Clint could kiss the grouchy old lady. Natasha made it past the two day mark, her vitals steadily rising.

Weiss would come in for a couple of hours at a time to read for a while and force Clint to get out for a little bit. Clint would grab some food and be back within a couple of minutes. Weiss wrinkled him nose in disgust whenever he returned, "Go take a damn shower boy!"

But now her eyes were open and he had to laugh because he's never been so damn happy in his life to see a pair of pretty lube eyes.

"Never had a doubt." He said smugly, giving her a smile he knew she hated. But it was a wasted effort because she wasn't paying any attention to him.

The heart monitor began to beep furiously as she realized she was tied down to the bed, a precaution to keep her from harming herself or others, and panicked. Without thinking, Clint was by her side in an instant, attempting to calm her down while he worked to free her from the restraints. Coulson and Dr. what's-her-name would berate him for it later, but he figured he kind of owed it to her since he'd already knocked her out and tied her up twice now.

As soon as he got one of her hands free, he received a sound thwack to the nose that sent him reeling backwards. A couple of orderlies arrived just in time to see Natasha free herself completely and chuck the nearest object, a lamp from the side table, at them. It hit one square on the head, putting him on the ground.

_Shit._

"Natasha!" Clint drew her attention toward briefly him earning him a coffeepot aimed at his head. He ducked out of the way and moved to pull the other guy away from her. She looked confused and absolutely furious. Never a good combination when it came to an agent with her particular skill set.

"Tasha," he spoke softly and took a step toward her. "Tasha, hey, it's-" Running out of things to throw, she chucked her pillow at him and scrambled off the side of the bed opposite of him, the monitor flat-lineing as she pulled away from the cords. Her feet touched ground and her legs gave out under her.

The idiot orderly was now closer to her and had produced syringe with a sedative. Natasha's eyes widen at the sight of it and then her face contorted in anger and she snarled at him as he approached.

Clint managed to reach the guy and haul him back by the collar of his shirt before he was able to lunge at her with that needle and sign his own death warrant. Clint shoved him toward the door, "Get your pal and get out of here! Let me deal with this." The guy gave a frightened nod and moved to drag out the other orderly who was unconscious in the ground.

Clint returned his attention to Natasha. She'd backed herself into a corner and looked like a frightened, caged animal, eyes wild and ready to fight. Clint walked slowly toward her, hands up a nonthreatening manner. He carefully reached out and switched off the annoying heart monitor, his eyes never leaving hers.

He got as close as he dared and crouched in front of her. She pulled back as far as she could manage.

"Tasha, do you know where you are?"

Her brow furled as she searched for an answer and came up with nothing. Her brain was all muddled, and she couldn't sort out the tangled mess that was her thoughts.

"You know who I am?"

No. Nothing. She needed a minute. Just leave her alone, let her catch her breath, reorder her thoughts.

"Clint, my name is Clint. You always call me Barton though, all formal and shit." he quirked a smile at her. "Sao Paulo? Our little side trip to the Ukraine? We're in Budapest now." He continued on, detailing her time at SHIELD, speaking gently and inching closer and closer.

She shouldn't be letting him get so close…but, it was helping, the talking. Slowly he painted a picture for her and bit by bit coaxed her back to her senses, providing her a roadmap for her thoughts.

A hand on her shoulder made her jump. "It's just me," his arm wound around her shoulders and pulled her to him and she didn't have the strength to fight it. He was solid and warm, and everything she felt she wasn't in that moment; so she let him hold her while she caught her breath and waited for the world right itself.

She couldn't remember the last time, if ever, someone held her like this, rocking gently, rubbing circles on her back, and murmuring in a low comforting voice. Surely there must have been a time. Everyone should be held like this. No objective to fulfill, no demands, no sexual advances, just a peaceful moment of rest from the cruel world. She relaxed into him, closing her eyes and focusing on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Reluctantly, when she finally felt like herself again, she pulled away to look up at him. He met her gaze with a warm smile, and she reached up unconsciously to touch his face, drawing back at the last second. His nose was bleeding a bit, and dimly she remembered slamming the heel of her hand into his face.

"sorry," she said, barely audible.

He swiped his hand across his nose, pulling it back to examine the blood thoughtfully. Unexpectedly, he snorted in laughter, "No you're not," he shook his head a little. She wrinkled her nose at him and barely resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.

"Let's get you back to bed," he moved to scoop her up into his arm.

"I'm _fine_," and to prove her point she used the wall and pulled herself to her feet, but her legs wouldn't hold her and she wound up in his arms when they collapsed under her. He cocked an eyebrow and gave her an I-told-you-so grin, so she flicked him on the nose.

"_ow! Jeez._" He whined, covering his nose and cursing excessively, an overreaction in her book.

"Well?" she gave him an expectant look.

"What?"

"Are you going to help me up or what?"

He grumbled under his breath, but dutifully pulled her to her feet and let her lean on him while they walked over to the bed because she refused to let him pick her up. Once she was settled on the bed, she sagged in exhaustion, her frantic outburst taking its toll.

"Hand me my pillow," she commanded wearily.

"Oh, you mean the one you chucked at my face?" he complained, scooping up the pillow and placing it behind her with a huff.

"Good, now go get me some water."

"I'm not your maid."

She swatted at him and managed to lightly cuff his ear as he tried to dodge.

"You're such a bully," he threw over his shoulder, on his way to do her bidding.

"Wouldn't do it if it didn't work so well," she mumbled.

Clint returned a moment later with a pitcher to find her fast asleep. Setting the pitcher on the side table, he pulled the blanket over her. Lightly brushing back her hair, something he was certain she would never allow were she awake, he took a moment to revel in the fact that she was going to be alright.


	22. Scenes from Budapest

Alright! Who's excited? :) don't forget to review; you know how much I love it! You guys are the best!

* * *

A figure slipped though the darkness, creeping from shadow to shadow, she easily got the drop on one of the guards. Removing him from play, she set about cracking the code to the door, pulling off the cover and stripping wires. The door opened with a hiss, and she peered inside with a triumphant smile.

_I don't think so._

Clint lined her up in the crosshairs and took the shot. The force of the bullet took her to the ground and red spread across her dark suit. The paint was bright and almost glowed in the darkness. His victim let out a huff and slammed her fist on the ground in frustration.

It was too easy, like taking candy from a baby. A handful of agents-to-be apparently hadn't considered the possibility of a sniper; either that or they were foolish to think the darkness could hide them from his sharp eyes.

He picked off a pair that tried to make a break for the open door that would lead them to the red team's flag.

_Denied._

He could do this all night.

Idly he wondered what Natasha was up to. He had yet to catch a glimpse of her. It made him slightly uneasy. No doubt she was up to something clever…that is, if her team decided to play nice with her. There were still some reservations on base concerning her presence.

A week after she regained consciousness, medical _finally_ cleared her. Not a moment too soon either. Clint was convinced that if they had made her stay any longer, she was going to kill somebody. And that somebody probably would have been him. Stir-crazy Natasha was terrifying.

Coming off of whatever kind of shit the red room had her on had wiped her out pretty good. Four months later and she was finally getting back into peak shape.

She had tried to do too much too fast and almost landed herself back in medical. Weiss had sat her down and lectured her for an hour like she was a small child. Considering it was usually him in the hot seat, all Clint could do was sit by and try not to snigger though the whole thing. An unfortunate snort escaped him and the look Natasha shot him promised hell for him later.

He picked off another and briefly sat up to reload his weapon. He loved seeing the look of surprise on their face when they suddenly found themselves "dead."

A call went up as he chambered a round. They'd finally figure out where he was, and were organizing to take him out. This was going to be fun. Grinning, he quickly abandoned his perch, slipping noiselessly to the ground to take up a new one about 20 meters away. They were still a ways away; he'd pick them off when they came for him.

There's something the air that shifts when you are being followed. He dropped to the ground just as a paintball whizzed past. He rolled and came up with a handgun at the ready. Not hesitating he fired off in the direction of the shooter and hit nothing. There were shouts and guns went off the in distance, but the immediate area was eerily quiet.

He took cover behind a wooden barricade and carefully peered around the edge. Nothing. No signs of movement.

Two guesses who.

His mouth quirked up into a smile; this was going to be interesting.

She came at him from above, dropping down on top of him from an overhead tree branch. He landed on his back with her knee in his stomach. Winded, he barely had time to catch her fist as it flew at his face. He grunted as she dug her knee in harder, and retaliated by twisting her arm.

She growled at him and bared her teeth; he'd examine what that did to him later. Spies learned to use whatever means necessary to win a fight, pride be damned. Natasha tended to lean down and whisper dirty things in his ear. The first time she did it, he'd had her pinned to his chest. Somehow she managed to turn her head and deliver a rather scandalous invitation that only he could hear.

Shocked, his grip slipped and he found himself flat on his back with her standing over him, gloating. She arched her eyebrow in a most irritating fashion, her eyes laughing at his foolishness.

Before she could manage to pull some dirty trick, he managed to toss her off of him. She rolled into a crouch, gun out and aimed, and gave him a challenging smile. She stood up slowly, daring him to try something, so he did. Instead of have some dramatic stare down, Clint launched himself at her feet just as she fired.

He toppled her over and knocked her weapon away. Breathless, it took her a second to recover; using the brief moment, he took off running. Distance would be his greatest advantage.

He ran hard and fast, dodging trees and changing direction randomly. When he was close to his team's base, he dropped low to the ground to take in his surroundings. He was certain she followed him, but she was nowhere in sight, and he heard nothing.

_What the hell?_

He strained his ears. Silence. Complete silence. Even the distant sounds of shouts and gunfire that usually went on during a spy version of capture the flag had died away completely, but the signal for the end of the game hadn't gone off.

Soundlessly, he pulled himself up into a tree. He needed to be up high where he could see better.

He pulled his scope off his rifle to look around and saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. Where the hell did everybody go? Better yet, what the hell happened to Natasha? She had to be around here somewhere.

Tentatively, he let out a long whistle, the signal his team had agreed to use to call for help. A bird call sounded off to the left, but it wasn't any kind of signal from his team and there were no birds in this arena. Natasha maybe?

He unslung his rifle and found a dark figure perched in a tree. He fired off a shot and hit his mark. The bird call sounded again, closer this time. What the hell. Looking through his scope he found nothing, the person had already moved on.

Unexpectedly, a blue paintball exploded on the branch by his head, surprised, he lost his balance and tumbled off his perch. He caught himself before he hit the ground and hung upside down for a moment before dropping to his feet.

Natasha was waiting for him with a wicked grin and a gun trained on him.

_Shit._

She gave him a look as if you say _you lose_ and pulled the trigger. He squeeze his eyes shut and waited for the blow.

Click

Clint opened one of his eyes in surprise. She was out of ammo. He was one lucky son of a bitch when it came to his fights with her. Grinning, Clint swung his rifle up and fired, nailing her dead in the chest.

"I win." He said smugly. She gave him a sweet smile that set off all kinds of warning bells.

"Oh no _yastreb,_ _you_ lose."

Before he could respond, three figures materialized from the shadows and pelted him mercilessly with paintballs. When the onslaught let up, one of the trainees let out a long call. A couple minutes later a long tone when off signally the victory of the blue team and the end of the game.

Clint stood there with his mouth hanging open in shock as dozens of trainees came out of the woodwork to see Clint covered in blue paint. They'd planned the whole fucking thing.

_Well…this is embarrassing. Taken down by baby agents._

He looked over to find, wonder of wonders, Natasha Romanoff, the formidable Black Widow, doubled over in laughter. Thankfully, some of the spectators found the fact that she was giggling far more shocking that Hawkeye's demise. It was only the second time he'd ever heard her giggle, and the sound of it almost made it worth being covered in smelly blue paint.

A flash went off.

_Almost._

He turned to find Coulson holding a camera and fighting back a smirk, "oh how the mighty have fallen"

"_et tu Brute_?" he said, dramatically clenching his fist over his heart. Off to his side he heard a renewed fit of giggles. "ha. ha. ha._ very_ funny. I hate you,_ both_ of you."

"No you don't" Natasha replied between giggles.

"You set me up!" The two of them shared a look of amusement. It was like they had suddenly bonded over tormenting him. Next thing you know they'd be teaming up against him for April Fool's. He complained loudly all the way to the showers.

* * *

There was a definite change in atmosphere since the all base capture the flag, where the former Russian assassin was concerned. Instead of cool indifference, she actually started to receive smiles. One guy even tried to give her a high-five. After she had stared blankly at him for an awkward moment he ran his hand through his hair nervously and mumbled a "great job last night" and walked away to join his giggling friends

Apparently helping them take down the infamous Hawkeye, who had never lost a game since joining SHIELD, earned one quite a bit of respect.

"No, it's definitely because they all saw you dissolve into a fit of giggles." Clint informed her. "You're just not as terrifying anymore. You know what they say about reputations. Lifetime to build, seconds of uncontrollable giggling destroy."

"Or a couple of well-aimed paintballs." That wiped that obnoxious self-important smile off of his face. He made a face and stuck out his tongue. "You are such a child."

He just laughed good naturedly.

"Here we are," Natasha looked out the window and up at the towering modern skyscraper that seemed out of place amongst the older structures. Gathering her purse, she turned to find Clint making a weird face.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" he wiped away imaginary tears, "My baby's all grown up and going on her first mission."

She rolled her eyes, "this is hardly my first mission." She climbed out of the car, closing the door on his laughter, and strode confidently into the building.

It was a cake walk really. She was the distraction, the pretty face touring the facility that kept men thinking of anything but the work they were supposed to be doing. She kept the head engineer busy, accidently set off an alarm at just the right moment, embarrassed and blushing at her own clumsiness, while Clint slipped in unseen. Clint got the information from the computer, and she wiped the drive with a powerful magnet in the bottom of her purse. Set it on the computer tower, turn it on. Easy.

Clint met her at the door, pulling open the car for her, and flashing a slight smirk. Doesn't he know, no matter how small the job, one should never break character. It was bad form. She gave him a perfectly cheery smile, one that little miss rich girl gave out like candy, and thanked him kindly.

In and out, they were long gone before anyone even realized something was wrong.

When they were a ways away, she pulled off the uncomfortable black wig, and ran her fingers through her long locks. When she mentioned she was going to cut and dye it, Clint had opposed the idea fiercely.

"it's just a simple job, why go through so much trouble"

What was it with men and red hair?

The drive back would take a little while, so she cracked the window and let the fresh air blow around her hair a little bit as she watched the city pass by. It was pleasant to be above ground, to feel the warmth of the sun and the cool breeze. She hadn't realized how much she missed it.

It amazed her that she was still alive. No one ever survived the withdrawal; at least no one she knew about. Perhaps there were others that had managed to get away. Hopefully, her handlers thought she was dead after being so long without their "life preserving" drug.

For the first time in her life, she felt like she could do anything. She was free of the Red Room, they had lost all control over her. She vowed to never give it back.

This mission had been a test run to see if she could be trusted out in the world. No doubt Barton had orders to take her out for good if she tried anything.

She wondered if he would be able to do it. What would he do if she tried to run away? He let his emotions rule his decisions far too much in her opinion. He would be easy to manipulate.

The car slowed unexpectedly and she looked around confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Thought we'd grab some lunch before we had to head back to the land of spies. You know, _real_ food, not that shit they serve in the cafeteria." He explained cheerfully, smiling at her in the rearview mirror.

Stupid and reckless. You don't hang around town after pulling a job. He parked and opened the door for her. She just sat there, staring up at him like he was crazy.

"Oh, come on Tasha! Don't be so serious all the time. We're _fine._ Clean get away, no one is chasing us, and they're not going to be expecting us to be sitting in a nice restaurant having lunch." He grabbed her hand and gave it a tug to encourage her. Begrudgingly, she stood and allowed herself to be dragged into the restaurant. He put her arm though his and walked with a little bounce in his step, whistling a happy tune. He was so cheerful it was annoying.

"Gotta make up for all your crankiness." He explained when she remarked on it. "Equal and opposite reaction, Newton's third law…or was it the second?"

"Failed Physics in school did you?"

"Only the first three or four times." He gave her a wink and she rolled her eyes.

They were seated by a window with a lovely view. Clint ordered the most expensive thing on the menu and then complained loudly when he didn't like it. The waiter, a nervous fellow, quickly brought him another entre, free of charge. He gave her a smirk trying to contain his laughter, and there was that urge to roll her eyes again. Sometimes she wondered how on earth did this man, no, correction: overgrown child become one of SHIELD's top agents?

She sipped her excellent cup of coffee and gazed out the window, enjoying the detour despite her training that was creaming in the back of her mind. Clint was unusually silent, she had expected him to chat idly, and he liked to share stories from his days in the circus. Some were incredibly funny, and she rather enjoyed hearing them. Not that she'd ever tell him.

Every once in while he'd let a painful memory slip. His abusive father, his brother, he kept giving her little pieces of himself, entrusting her with these things. She didn't know what to do with that. she'd never had anyone trust her like that. He was the first person in a long while who knew who she was and what she was capable of, that didn't look at her with distrust, expecting her to turn on them. Even her previous handlers had been wary around her.

She turned back to the table as the waiter returned with the check and caught Clint staring at her pensively. He cleared his throat awkwardly and busied himself with inspecting the check.

* * *

Natasha splashed some kind of nasty alcohol over the gaping wound in his leg and he hissed in pain. Where the hell did she even get it from?

"Shit!"

"Hush."

She tied a tourniquet around his leg and pulled it tight causing him to groan. He sank forward into her, exhausted and breathing heavily.

"Come on, "She commanded firmly, pulling his arm around her shoulders. "Get up, I am not carrying you, get _up_!" he grunted as she hauled him to his feet. He leaned heavily on her as they moved slowly, picking their way through the warehouse and hopefully in the direction of their backup.

Gunfire rang out around them. This thing had gone south fast. Their mark had known they were coming and had a nasty surprise prepared. Natasha's reflexes and quick thinking had saved their lives. He'd have to remember to thank her later.

She seemed to be able to make explosives out of chewing gum and bailing wire.

"That's impossible Clint," apparently she hadn't understood the MacGyver reference.

A loud crack sounded behind them and he heard her cry out in surprise and pain. Growling, she swung around, pulling him with her, and nailed the guy between the eyes.

"That's my girl," he mumbled, managing to grin at her though his own pain. She gave him an annoyed look and pulled him roughly along.

She managed to get them both out in one piece. Their back up had arrived and quickly cordoned off the area. She shoved him none too gently into the nearest vehicle and climbed in behind him. She ordered the guy in the front seat to drive. He said something in protest that Clint didn't really hear, his vision was swimming and he was pretty sure he was about to pass out. No doubt she silenced the guy with a look that easily persuaded the guy to do as she ordered or risk finding out what its like to sleep with the fishies. She did that sort of thing. She'd make a fine General.

The world grew dimmer, blood loss was a bitch. He could have imagined it, but he felt her slide her fingers gently through his hair. She leaned in close and sweetly whispered something in Russian. Imagined or not, he liked it.

People didn't realize how sweet she really was; maybe she didn't even realize it herself.

"Barton, you're going to be fine," he heard her say. There was a stupid smile on his face as he slipped into unconsciousness.

He woke up hours later in a hospital bed. Natasha was asleep in the chair next to him, a bandage in her arm, stitches along her collar bone, and various other cuts and bruises. She was fucking beautiful.

* * *

She could feel his eyes on her as she danced around the room. She'd long since been freed of a personal escort and was free to move about the base, excepting the more sensitive areas she did not yet have clearance for. She discovered a small, little used gym that had floor to ceiling mirrors that that you might find in a dance studio.

She liked to come here late at night, away from prying eyes, to dance. She had not done ballet in a very long time. Until recently the memory of it had been far too painful. Now, no longer enslaved, she found herself gliding through the familiar movements. It was like being reacquainted with an old friend. Her feet ached, a nuisance during physical training in the morning, but the pain was worth it. If there was one thing she would ever admit having a passion for, it was dancing.

He found her here a few days after it had become a routine for her; no doubt sent to investigate what she was up to. He'd show up every once in a while to stand in the doorway and silently watch her. After a few minutes, he would leave, never saying anything, presumably respecting her space.

Tonight he lingered, shifting from foot to foot as if debating whether or not to disturb her. She halted her movements to give him the opportunity he was looking for, inviting him in in her own way. No longer having any reason to keep his distance, he shuffled in, like a shy little boy, hands in his pockets and avoiding her gaze.

"Barton." She greeted him evenly, wary of his uncharacteristic behavior.

"Hey Tasha, I uh-" he swallowed hard, searching for the words. "Well you see…I um…"

Natasha was not known for her patience. "Spit it out Barton."

"Well you're good at dancing."

"Thank you?" All this to give her a compliment? Normally he just said what was on his mind; compliments and insults alike came flying out of his mouth with ease.

"I've got this mission in like a week. I gotta go to this gala type thing and the guy I'm impersonating is supposedly some fantastic dancer..." he trailed off.

"_and_?"

"I do a decent waltz…but not much else." He rocked on the balls of his feet and apprehensively met her eyes.

"Are you asking me to give you dancing lessons?"

He blushed a little, actually blushed. It was kind of adorable. Not that the Black Widow found anything adorable, because she most certainly did not. "If you don't wanna, I understand. I'll just ask someone else." He turned to leave.

"Clint!" she said a bit too quickly. He turned back, surprised at the use of his first name. "I'll teach you." She said gently.

He stared at her in amazement, and she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. For some reason, Clint had a way of making her uncertain of herself. He was coming to her as a friend, asking for help. That's what friends did right? They helped each other out. _Were_ they friends?

A bright smile lit up his face and he bounded over to her excitedly. "Thank you, thank you, _thank you!"_

She took a step back. "You're not going to hug me are you?" she asked; ready to bolt if he tried it.

He laughed, "No, I value my life, thank you very much."

"Show me what you got." He stared at her for a moment. She rolled her eyes at his hesitation and closed the distance between them. "I'm not going to bite Barton."

"My experience says otherwise." He gave her his trade mark smile and pulled her into arms. Any awkwardness between them dissipated as he led her though a simple waltz. Typically he liked to play up the clumsy oaf and uneducated carney that people usually took him for; in reality he was both intelligent and graceful…well…he could be graceful when he wanted to be.

She started him with the quickstep and foxtrot. He was a quick learner, but had a tendency to look down at his feet, which did more harm than good. He foot managed to collide rather painfully with her bare ones, and she let out a hiss of pain.

"Sorry."

Sighing, she put her hand under his chin and forced him to look up. "Stop looking at your feet, focus on your partner. They will follow where you go. Just lead confidently and you'll do fine. Even if you take a wrong step, as long as you do it with confidence, it won't matter. You draw more attention to your faults if stop to apologize." She slid her hand behind his neck and pulled him closer, gazing at him with hooded eyes. "Romance your partner. Dancing can be even more intimate than sex."

She gave him a heated look and softly ran her hand down his cheek, caressing his lips with her thumb and causing his breath to hitch. "Make them fall for you and the entire room will think you're a master dancer." She whispered softly in his ear.

His seemed to have lost the ability to breathe due to her proximity and he swallowed hard his look of wonder gave her pause. It would be easy and not altogether unpleasant. He was an attractive man and more than once she had caught him appreciating her assets.

She owed him so much, an insurmountable debt she couldn't ever hope to pay back. He'd saved her when he'd had every reason to kill her, and stuck by her side though everything. He was her friend when she sorely needed one; and she'd never had a friend before, not like him. Loyal to a fault.

She looked up at him from underneath her eyelashes and stood up on her toes till their lips were a hairsbreadth apart. He sucked in a breath, and she could see the inward debate in his eyes. Last time, she forced herself on him as a distraction, now she gave him the choice.

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He gave her a small, sad smile, then pulled back from her slightly but continued to lead her though a slow dance. She'd never been turned down before, but she found she respected him more because of it.

She wanted to do something for him, to give him something. Before she knew it, the words came tumbling out, things she had buried deep inside and kept hidden for so long.

"I used to dance like this with my father." She spoke softly, almost as if afraid someone else would hear of she said it any louder. She moved closer to him and stepped up onto his feet like a small child might do. She didn't dare look at his face lest she lose her nerve. "He wasn't actually my father, but he let me call him papa."

He held her tighter and continued to sway gently. "I was raised in the Red Room; it was all I ever knew. But when I was twelve, I got away…or at least I thought I had." She took a shaky breath, it was painful, she hadn't allowed herself to think about it in so long.

"He found me while he was on a hunting trip, staying in a cabin deep in Siberia. He took me to Moscow and treated me as if I were his own daughter. He had a son too, and for the first time that I could remember, I had a family."

She allowed herself to smile, the kind with intermingle joy and heartbreak. "He taught me to dance, and enrolled me in a ballet class. That ballet studio was my favorite place in the world." She leaned into him and he held her firmly against him. she may have found a new favorite place.

"What happened to them?"

She rested her head against his shoulder, "I thought he'd saved me." She felt so small, like she was once again a helpless child with no control.

"Tasha?" he pulled away and put a hand under her chin to make her look at him. He wiped his thumb across her cheek and she realized she was crying. She turned her back to him and swiped furiously at her eyes. How embarrassing.

"He uh…" she cleared her throat. _Get a hold of yourself_! "After two years he took me back, it was all a trick. A foolish fantasy. To control me they needed to break me, they gave me something wonderful and then took it away." There was an edge to her voice. The betrayal had cut deep, and the force of her rage was overwhelming. She shook with anger. "That man in Sao Paulo, Yuri, he used to be my "brother.""

He stepped up behind her and wrapped her in an embrace. She relaxed instantly into him; his presence seemed to be enough to calm her. He dropped a kiss onto the crown of her head

"I'm sorry that happened to you." His voice was soft and comforting, and rough with emotion.

They kept meeting long after he returned successful from his mission. Sometimes they'd dance, sometimes they'd spar. Somewhere in between she came to the sudden realization that she trusted him completely. If he asked anything of her, she would do it, no questions asked. Loyal to a fault.

* * *

Their transfer came through. After several successful operations, Fury was biting at the bit to unleash the Black Widow on the worst of the worst. She'd been in their employ for almost a year now, and she had the skills and the instincts for deep cover missions and would be invaluable. He granted Natasha senior agent status and expedited a transfer paperwork that would reassign them to SHIELD headquarters in New York.

They were scheduled to leave at the end of the week and Clint couldn't _wait_ to tell Natasha.

Unfortunately he had to meet with Coulson, Weiss, Director Parke, and other local big wigs to formally evaluate _Agent _Romanov before her promotion and security status could be officially official. The council wasn't terribly keen on it, but Fury tended to do as he pleased. So this meeting was really a really boring and unnecessary waste of time as far as Clint was concerned.

For the most part, Clint spent the majority of the meeting people watching though the large window that looked over the main control room, only speaking when asked a direct question. Weiss kicked him under the table every once in a while in an attempt to get Clint to focus and participate in the discussion. The guy loved to talk about his favorite student ("I don't _have_ favorites Barton." "Bullshit"), he answered most of the questions and made a pretty solid argument for Natasha. Clint really didn't feel needed.

Below them, SHIELD personnel moved around like ants in hive; monitoring ongoing missions, pushing papers to and fro, chatting around the water cooler, and other officey things.

There was a particularly beautiful brunette chatting up some computer geek. The poor guy was all flustered and looked like he didn't know what to do. Clint had to hide a smile as the guy spilled his coffee all over himself; embarrassed, he excused himself to go clean up. The girl gave the poor guy an understanding smile, turning to give Clint a better look at her face.

Clint bolted straight up in his seat. He knew her. He knew he knew her. But from where? All kinds of alarm bells were going off in his head. He racked his brain, searching for the answer.

The girl nonchalantly pulled a flash drive from the guy's computer and pressed something to the bottom of the desk. Clint's stomach did a flip.

_No fucking way._

He shot up from his chair, and everyone in the room turned to look at him.

"Bomb!" he threw over his shoulder and sprinted through the door and down the stairs, leaving a room of bewildered senior officers in his wake.

He hit the main floor just as the women exited though the door opposite him. "Bomb! Clear the room!" he shouted and took off after her, shoving people out of the way in his haste. People watched in shock as he ran across the room like a crazy person, a raving madman shouting warnings out of the blue.

An alarm went off as he reached the main corridor. Thank God! Coulson was probably the first to recover from his shock and the first to believe Clint's claim. Better to set off an unnecessary alarm and deal and call it a drill later; than to not set it off and risk hundreds of lives.

Ahead of him, the woman was walking calmly down the hall, unaffected by the blaring alarm and its resulting chaos.

"Make a hole!" he barked, impatiently pushing though the people who had flooded the halls. She turned and caught a glimpse of him, then bolted.

_Fuck._

He chased her down a less crowded hall and broke into a full sprint. He drew his gun and took aim, just as she had the same idea. Whipping around, she fired erratically. Clint dodged into a doorway, pulling another agent with him out of harm's way while another dropped the floor in a pool of blood. Peeking cautiously around the corner, he found the woman already on the run again. Carefully taking aim, Clint fired twice, nailing her in the knee and shoulder.

She went down. Behind him, the charge she'd placed in the control room detonated. It was expected, there was only enough time to evacuate. What was unexpected, were the successive concussions that went off, shaking the building around him.

Unexpectedly, the woman pulled herself to her feet and got off a round that tore into his side. He leapt back to cover, stanching the wound with his hand and returning fire, but by that time she had already disappeared through the door that led to the R&D labs.

He moved to follow, but a wall of heat blasted him back and darkness swallowed him up.

* * *

go ahead, let me know what you think :) I love hearing from y'all


	23. Family part 1

Oh my goodness! Its been TWO WEEKS since I updated! (sorry!) I'm sure if you like this story you've been painfully aware of that fact. But good news! I have the chapter after this all done! The next one was going to be this one, but then I decided I really needed something with Natasha inbetween, so here ya go.

Enjoy :)

* * *

A fist came flying at Natasha's face. She side-stepped smoothly, easily dodging the poorly executed right cross. Her attacker stumbled, carried forward by his momentum. She gave her attacker an unimpressed look and he flushed in embarrassment.

Apparentlytoday's lesson for the most recent batch of newbies was supposed to be "never underestimate a pretty face."

Clint and Weiss were tied up in a meeting all morning, one that she suspected had to do with her and her future with the agency, and she'd been given the entire day to do as she pleased. She hadn't been given clearance to go off base unless it was mission related, so her options for leisure were rather limited. Thus she decided to wile away the time in her quiet little gym that most people forgot even existed. She had looked forward to spending the time dancing, but alas, in came a group of young hotshots for their morning training just as she was finishing up her stretches.

Instead of dancing (a. because the class took up most of the floor space and b. she really didn't care to share that part of herself with anyone on base.) she settled for yoga, mindful of the unabashed stares some of the more foolish students directed at her.

After half an hour of dealing with inattentive jock straps the instructor, Maria Hill, politely asked Natasha if she would mind helping out with a demonstration.

She figured, what the hell, she had nothing better to do. Besides, she'll admit she took some perverse pleasure in knocking some of the arrogance out of would-be spies. Turns out Clint Barton was a bad influence. The guy would sign up to put new recruits through combat training just to mess with them and he'd managed to rope her into it more than once.

A few hours later, she'd practically taken over the class for Agent Hill. The woman stood passively off to the side, her keen eyes missing nothing. She would chime in from time to time, but left the majority of the instruction to Natasha.

Not that she would ever admit it, but Natasha was kind of enjoying herself.

A couple of agents sidled up next to Hill to watch, but Natasha was too focused on her current opponent/student to pay them any heed. She was used to being the base novelty. People still liked to drop in while she and Clint were training and watch them go at it.

When Weiss came in striding purposefully toward her, however, with slight furl to his brow, she stopped her lesson to give him her full attention. Aside from when he laughed at his own jokes, she'd never seen that much emotion on his face before. Something was up.

Only as she turned to Weiss, did she spare a glance at the on lookers. Two men, tall and well built. Not unusual for SHIELD. One she did not recognize at all, but the other…she froze in her tracks and felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. When had she become so stupid? How had she allowed herself to become so comfortable here as to miss what was right in front of her?

Weiss must have seen the change in her, because he broke into a run, but there was nothing he could do fast enough.

Yuri, who once upon a time she had called her brother, casually glanced at his watch and then looked up to stare her directly in the eyes. He used to smile at her warmly and tease her. He had been the first person to teach her to smile and joke around. Now she thought his gaze to be the very definition of malice. She felt like a small helpless child under his gaze.

He smirked and the world exploded.

* * *

Alright guys, if you want the next chapter before, you're gonna have to review. :) otherwise I'm gonna wait till like midnight on Monday, just to be annoying.


	24. Family part 2

Holy crap I love you guys!

As promised, the next chapter! Enjoy :)

* * *

_This is bad._

The world had tilted upside-down and the air was thick with smoke and dirt that had him hacking and coughing. Ears ringing and disoriented, he almost didn't react fast enough when a slight figure appeared though the smoke and launched a kick at his face. He dodged out of the way and swept a leg at his attacker's feet, throwing the deadly brunette to the ground. Without a doubt this was the red room operative who had helped to kidnap him and Natasha in Sao Paulo.

She growled at him in a fashion similar to Natasha when he backed her into a corner during a fight, and aimed a dangerous high heel at very unfortunate part of Clint's anatomy. Seriously! Who the hell wears high heels like that when they are infiltrating an enemy base? He caught her foot just in time, the stiletto dug painfully into his palm, but it was a lot better than the other option. He didn't have time to be relived however, because she deftly pulled her foot from the shoe and nailed her target.

"-oof."

Bitch seemed to like that move, he hadn't forgotten about their little tussle in Brazil. "Fucking hell." He managed to squeak out. Her shoe still in hand, he whipped her across the face, opening a gash on her pretty little face. She threw herself at him, biting and scratching, using every little dirty trick in the book to gain the upper hand, while Clint fended her with a shoe.

He stuck her in her wounded shoulder, digging the heel into it, and then lashed out with a well place kick to her knee that brought to down. She howled in anger when he managed to grab a handful of hair and slammed her face first into the unforgiving concrete wall with all his might.

She sputtered, spitting out blood and bits of teeth and tried ineffectively to pull herself to her feet. He stood over her, gasping for breath in the polluted air.

Clint has had to fight and kill women before, it came with the job, but he'd never taken pleasure in it and tried to avoid unnecessary brutality. Right now though, he couldn't help the satisfaction he got from seeing this woman, who had probably just killed and injured a lot of hard working men and women, fumble around bloodied and dazed from the harsh blow he'd dealt. He had neither patience nor compassion left in him at the moment for her.

_How the fuck had she even gotten into the base? _

There would be plenty of time to drag the answers out her later, right now every fiber of his being was screaming at the moment he needed to get to Natasha. He needed to make sure she was okay.

Crouched in a nearby doorway a junior agent, Gomez he recalled, was staring at him wide-eyed; barely managing to contain her terror. The first time in an actual battle always sucked, and being taken by surprise only made it worse. A response team in full tactical gear poured into the corridor and he gave Gomez a brief, reassuring smile before returning his attention to the Natasha wannabe.

He turned to find her smiling up at him like a bloodied Cheshire cat.

_Oh shit. _

In the field, making assumptions could get you killed. He'd missed something, and by the time his brain caught up with the situation, it was too late. He'd already allowed them to get too close and the butt of an assault rifle collided with the back of his head, knocking him to his knees.

"Sir!" Gomez cried out, snapping out of her shock and suddenly on her feet. She attacked the man nearest to her, surprising him and jabbing the heel of her hand hard into his nose. She was a promising agent and an excellent fighter, but very few _experienced_ agents were capable of taking on a heavily armed six man team alone. By the time she moved on to her next target, four guns were aimed and ready to shred her to pieces.

_Fuck._

Clint shoved his shoulder into the nearest guy, knocking him off balance while his attention was focused on Gómez, and flung himself at the junior agent. He scrambled to pull her around the nearest corner as the women shouted and the men to open fire on them.

Hot lead slammed into the back of his thigh, but they managed to get to cover in one piece. Next to him Gómez hissed, pressing her hand into her side where she'd been hit. The gunfire ceased while, and Clint peeked quickly around the corner. They were cautiously creeping closer, moving in for the kill.

Quickly, Clint took stock of the situation. Neither one of them had a gun; he'd lost his in the explosion and Gómez, in her sweats was off duty and unarmed. To his left, the corridor had collapse in the blast, cutting off their exit. To his right was a hall that was unobstructed, but to get to it they would have to leave their cover and rick getting shot. Judging by the way Gómez was leaning heavily into his shoulder, she was going into shock and he would have to drag her across the hall.

_Fuck._

He hated the feeling of being a sitting duck. He steeled himself to take them on hand to hand as they came around the corner. Outnumbered and wounded, this was going to suck balls.

Thankfully, he was saved from attempting the impossible as the real cavalry arrived; opening fire and forcing the intruders to beat a hasty retreat in the opposite direction. When bullets stopped and the smoke cleared, one SHIELD agent was down for the count and two of the Russians had gotten away. Four were dead and the woman had been left behind, her injuries preventing her from fleeing with her teammates. So much for no man left behind.

"Clear!"

"Sir! Are you all right?" an agent appeared at his side, pulling out a pressure bandage as he took notice of Clint's injuries.

"No, help her." he jerked his head toward Gómez and took the bandage to wrap his leg himself.

"Sit rep. How bad is it?"

"Not sure yet sir."

_really fucking bad._

Clint let out a frustrated sigh, curing under his breather in ever language he could manage.

"Alright, get these two to medical now. Make sure that one," he nodded toward the Russian woman, "is secure. Check and double check, make sure she hasn't got any nasty little toys on her."

"Yes sir!"

"And someone give me a fucking gun!" a side arm and an extra magazine were hastily placed on his waiting hand.

Taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth, Clint forced his body to walk briskly in the direction of the nearest stairwell that would take him three flours down to the gym where Natasha was likely to be. He could swing by the armory on the way and grab a bow, it wouldn't be _his_ bow but he was far more comfortable with a bow than a gun.

* * *

I bet you all are dying to know what going to happen to Natasha. Will Clint get there in time? what other nasty surprise are in store?

Stay tuned to find out! And don't forget to review and encourage me to write faster!


	25. Family part 3

So I went back and did some editing on earlier chapters. Holy cow! How do you guys put up with me and my horrendous typos?

Anyway, as alway, I hope you enjoy this chapter

* * *

_Strange_ she thought.

She could see up into the room above the gym. Her mind immediately jumped to the ridiculous conclusion that she must have x-ray vision. A side effect of some weird Red Room experiment perhaps? She wouldn't put it past them. Clint would laugh at her.

Her mind snapped back into focus and sound returned to the world around her. Numbly, she took in her surroundings. There was fire and the air was thick with smoke. Above her, the ceiling had a wide gaping hole in it with a limp, bloodied body hanging over the edge, staring sightlessly down at her. To her left was a student; his skull crushed under a large piece of rubble. Distantly she heard people shouting and calling out to each other.

The lights flickered and then went out completely.

_Yuri is here._

They'd found her. She had hoped they would believe her dead or at least that they wouldn't be able to get to her here, safe in the arms of SHIELD. How childish of her. How naive.

_Fuck_

She had to move. N_ow._

"gah!" she gasped. Pain laced up her arm as she tried to sit up. A large chunk of cement had her wrist pinned, judging from the pain, it was probably broken. How'd she miss that?

_Shit._

She was suddenly all too aware of her injuries. Her head ached, and she could feel warm liquid sliding down the back of her neck. A decent size rock must have struck her knee because there was a nasty gash and it hurt like a bitch. Could've been worse she guessed; she could have ended up completely buried under the rubble.

Suddenly Weiss was there, gingerly pulling her hair away from her face, and lifting the debris off of her. She cradled her wrist to her chest as he helped her sit upright. She'd never been so happy to see someone. He was cover in dirt but appeared to be unharmed.

The relief she felt was overwhelming, but it evaporated immediately as the devil himself appeared behind Weiss's shoulder. Before she could breathe a word of warning, Yuri reached around Weiss and buried a combat knife deep in the old man's chest.

Hot blood sprayed her and a strangled sob tore from Natasha's throat. Weiss wheezed in shock and began to choke as blood came up his throat. Yuri kept his eyes on her, leveling a challengie, daring her to attack him. He withdrew the knife, allowing more blood to bubble out, and then tossed him aside like he was a piece of garbage.

She couldn't move, couldn't think as he lay there gasping for breath; his body twitching unnaturally as his life slipped away. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. His eyes finally dulled and she found she couldn't breathe.

"Time to come home Natalia."

Yuri's voice cut through her. He said it so casually, as if he were merely collecting her from the dance studio and she was still a stubborn child who wanted to stay and dance for an hour more.

Looking up at him, she felt all of her grief drain away, replaced by white hot rage. Letting out an inhuman cry she threw herself at him. Injuries be damned, she was not going to let him leave here alive.

She slammed her good hand into his sternum, knocking him back a few steps. She gave no quarter, striking again and again. He met each blow with a well-timed block that only served to infuriate her more and more. Finally, she nailed him in the face and felt stratifying crunch of his nose beneath the heel of her hand.

He grunted and stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his bloodied nose. He glared at her and she grinned in return, tilting her head in challenge.

"Well," he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "That's _quite_ enough of that." his tone was still that of an annoyed parent.

When he attacked, it was vicious. He struck at her injured knee. She managed to dodge, but then he caught her on her shoulder and threw her off balance. His blows were powerful and unrelenting. She'd had more than a few broken bones at his hands over the years. An unforgiving kick to her stomach sent he sprawling on top of Weiss's body. She landed on something hard that was strapped to his waist and came up wielding Weiss's gun.

She fired three shots in succession without hesitation, and…

Missed. He was five feet in front of her, and she fucking_ misses_. Her hand had jerked to the side of its own volition. Yuri looked down at her unimpressed.

She stared in shock as pressed his throat into the muzzle of the gun. God help her, she tried to pull the trigger. Focused all her energy into her index finger, willing it to squeeze and kill the bastard. But it wouldn't. fucking. _move_.

She'd always suspected that she'd had behavioral conditioning. But she'd never run up against it so blatantly. She was _physically_ unable to kill him; her body would not obey the command, infuriating her further.

He smiled arrogantly at her. "You want to kill me little Natalia?" he feigned hurt, "but…we're_ family_." She growled in response and he lashed out, knocking her across the chin. He grabbed ahold of her injured wrist and gave it a painful twist. She gritted her teeth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of hearing her cry out.

She heard her name in the distance, and was vaguely aware of agent Hill attempting to come to her aid. She was prevented however, by Yuri's partner. Who overpowered her, knocking her down and keeping her there with his boot on her chest and a gun to her head. After that, Natasha lost track of her, too focused on her current struggle with her_ dear_ brother.

"Stop being," he backhanded her, "such a child." He grabbed her around the throat and gave a threatening squeeze. "We are going home_ now_." His voice was low and dangerous.

She bared her teeth and snarled at him. He laughed at her reaction, lessening his grip on her throat ever so slightly. She kicked out with her foot, surprising him and allowing her to jerk free of his grip. She sank her teeth into his arm until she could taste blood. She might not be able to kill him, but she could sure as hell hurt him.

He howled in anger and shoved her away; she took a chunk of his arm with him.

"_suka_!"

She spit out the chunk of flesh and managed a wicked smile. Apparently that was the last straw, because now he looked ready to kill. His face contorted into a mask of bitter rage. She was no longer the annoying little sister.

He came at her harder than ever before, hitting her weakest points with brutal force. She evaded and dodged and much as possible, but he had always been faster than her, stronger. It also didn't help that she seemed to be pulling her own punches, he body betraying her even as she fought for her life. For every hard blow she dealt him with full strength, two more hits landed with almost playful force. It was aggravating beyond words. Perhaps he'd always been better than her only because of the conditioning that prevented her from killing him.

He had her pinned to the ground, his full weight pressing her into the uneven ground and his hand gripping her throat. She had neither the strength nor energy to throw him off of her.

_No matter,_ she reigned herself and waited for the final blow, _better he kill me here than drag me back with him._ Surely they wouldn't waste time trying to drag her dead body out of here.

Unexpectedly, the head of an arrow sprouted from Yuri's chest. The look of surprise on his face elicited a cruel manic laugh from her. Clint appeared, pulling the bastard off of her and shoving an arrow into his belly before he was able to react. It was his turn now to be tossed aside and left to die, choking on his own blood.

She couldn't take her eyes off of him as he bled out before her. She stared transfixed, even as Clint pulled her into his arms.

Clint gave her a firm shake, forcing her to look at him. "Tasha?" he stared into her eyes, worried for her. His warm had found its way to the back of her neck and he rested his forehead against hers. "You okay?" he asked one the verge of sounding frantic.

Glancing at Yuri's prone form, she smiled, "I'm fine."

He held pulled her to her feet and would have pulled her close and held her tightly (and surprisingly, she realized, she would have let him) but the chaos around them came into focus. There were shouts and gunfire amid the fire and smoke. This wasn't a small strike team there to extract her and get out, this was a full on siege.

Maria Hill had taken down Yuri's partner and was working organize her students and secure the gym. Her crisp orders cutting through the turmoil and demanding obedience.

They didn't have time for sediment at the moment; they had a job to do. Without thought or discussion they jump into the fray together, falling into an easy rhythm. She would set up a target for him, luring them out into the open to receive a present from the resident archer, and then return his arrows to him.

If she were not the professional that she was, she might find fighting alongside him a bit distracting. In their sparing sessions, she could focus completely on him. So if she chose to admire his fighting skills and/or his beautifully chiseled muscles, is didn't distract her from the fight.

Now though, she did not have the time to take in the sight of his arms tensing as he skillfully nocked an arrow and released, not even looking at his target as his sharp eyes were already seeking out his next victim. He used his bow like an extension of his arm, loosing an arrow and then bringing it around to defend himself from a close attack. He'd smoothly draw an arrow, kill his attacker, and then seamlessly nock it and take out another just over her shoulder.

His close combat skills hadn't been anything to sneeze at when they first met. But now, after months of sparing with her consistently, his fighting style was more refined and allowed for better maneuvering and recovery. Where he struggled before with sambo trained fighters, he now easily dodged and countered.

A guy came at him with a knife. He ducked and sidestepped effortlessly. The guy lunged at him. Clint caught his wrist with one hand and placed his other on the guys shoulder. He jumped and wrapped his legs around the guy from behind, bringing him crashing to the ground. A quick twist and crack, and the man did not get up again.

The battle was long and grueling, but exhilarating as well. By now they knew each other's moves and style so well that they needed no words to coordinate their efforts. The rest of SHIELD seemed to be operating just as smoothly.

After the initial shock and confusion, commanding officers were quick to take charge and craft order out of chaos. Search and rescue efforts and systematic sweeps were conducted simultaneously. Everyone's identities were checked and double checked before they were evacuated to medical facilities and nearby military bases as needed.

By the end of the day fresh agents had been shipped in to serve as mop up crews. Coulson ordered Natasha and Clint to report for medical care. Clint, in true Barton fashion, began whining almost immediately.

"uhhh," he groaned as he leaned into her, throwing an arm around her shoulders for support. She gave him a playful, warning look. "What? I've been _shot!...Twice_!" she rolled her eyes. "One of which was in the _leg_."

"And yet you've faired perfectly well throughout this whole ordeal, managing to do far more than walk without assistance. I think you can manage a little longer."

"but now the adrenaline is wearing off, _duh_**."** He flashed a boyish grin and she shook her head at him, fighting back her own smile. In all reality, she knew they were _both_ drained, and she was leaning into him just as much.

Her guard was down almost completely; this was the effect he had on her.

It was a stupid mistake.

His face fell, and before she could react, he grabbed her and swung around to shield her with his body. Shots rang out and his body shuddered against her as he took two bullets to the back. SHIELD agents all around drew their weapons a fired upon the gunman, bringing him down in record time; but the damage was already done.

A couple other agents hit the ground, wounded or dead, Natasha didn't know. She was only aware of Clint's weight slumped against her, his breathing labored and his blood slipping over her hands.

She watched for the second time that day as someone she'd allowed herself to care about slipped into oblivion.

* * *

What's that? Three cliffies in a row? I'm not even sorry….

What's going to happen next? If you want to find out let me know! Bribe me with reviews, I'm quite the addict :) and you guys never disappoint.


	26. Lessons Learned

Thanks for all the FRIKIN AWESOME reviews!

I love it when someone shows up and says they stayed up late to read all of it. It gives me warm tingly feelings :D

Anyway, without further ado…enjoy your reading…

* * *

There was a girl in her ballet class. Her name was Nadezhda, but everyone called just her Naddie. She was two years older than Natasha, a year younger than Yuri

She had beautiful dark hair and a pale complexion, and she was the sweetest girl you would ever meet. She had been the first to welcome little Natalia and to befriend her. She coaxed the quiet and paranoid little girl into opening up, into laughing and smiling without fear. She diligently dealt with every little set back, sitting in the closet with her for hours on end as she shook and screamed and threw things.

She had been the best dancer in the class and hadn't been jealous, or at least didn't let on if she was, when Natasha surpassed her after only a year of lessons.

They'd been inseparable. Had sleep overs and stayed up late giggling. Natalia had never done anything like it before. Naddie would just smile patiently and coach her though her new experiences, like make-up and flirting with boys.

Naddie liked Yuri, and sometime they'd sneak off together to steal kisses. Natalia would cover for them, and Naddie would hug her and thank her profusely. Papa would smile knowingly and then tease her about finding a cute boy of her own.

It had been like living a happy dream. Slowly she learned to let her worries go, and stopped checking under the bed for the proverbial boogieman, come to drag her back to her old life. She trusted them _completely._

And then one day she woke up, scared and alone, right back where she started. She got a new handler, and was punished if she dared address him as papa. Her brother and Naddie were suddenly her rivals, in the same program she had been in all her life.

Everything she thought she knew came into question. None of it was real, but she could remember every detail, every smell, every smile, and every dance move. What's more, her_ body_ remembered. Her feet still had callouses and she could easily do every dance piece she had ever learned.

She'd never been able to decide if it had actually happened. If they set it all up and she actually lived it; or if they had merely implanted the memories. Her head would start to pound if she thought about it too long, so after a while she gave up trying to figure it out. In the end it didn't matter wether the memories were real or fake, the betrayal was still the same and the lesson was learned: trust no one. Hold nothing dear and nothing can be used against you and taken away.

Now, sitting in the hall of a hospital waiting while Clint was in surgery she couldn't help feeling like she was waking up to cold hard reality for a second time.

It was dangerous and stupid to let people get close.

Clint woke up to an empty room, sterile and white. Great. He_ loved_ hospitals. Shitty food and nosey doctors who liked to poke and prod. Well, at least they had some really great drugs.

He tried to sit up and groaned in pain. Oh yeah, he'd been shot…

A nurse came in to check on him and jumped when she found him awake.

"Morning sunshine!" she said cheerily. She was cute, so he tried to give her a charming smile and ended up wincing in pain as he instinctively tried to sit up again.

She giggled, "Easy there hot stuff."

She gave him a lovely shot of morphine and then gently helped him sit up while she cleaned and redressed his wounds. By the time she was finished he was feeling _really_ nice and a bit light headed. He gave her a lazy smile as she propped him up with an extra pillow, "so, no sponge bath?" he croaked, his throat dry from disuse. Definitely not the sexy tone her had been aiming for.

She laughed and poured him a cup of water, "I don't think your girlfriend would like that too much."

"Girlfriend?"

"Pretty red head."

"oh yeah." Tasha would kill him if she knew he didn't correct the nurse on her assumption. But she was a girl…and she was his friend. Plus, in his defense, he was floating in a warm and fuzzy cloud of morphine. He couldn't be held responsible for what he said while under the influence "Speaking of which, where is she?"

Last time he'd been injured, he woke up to find her asleep in the chair next to him. In fact, Any time he had been in the infirmary in the near seven months they had been working together on missions, she was never far away. By unspoken agreement, they stuck around to keep other entertained whenever one of them was benched for an injury.

She shrugged, "Don't know." She wrote a few notes on the chart and hung it on the end of his bed. "I'll let your CO know you're awake." She gave him another cheery smile and headed to the door.

"Oh shit!" the nurse started at his exclamation.

"What? What is it?" she looked at him in alarm.

"Tell me I didn't miss Christmas _again_."

Rolling her eyes, she walked out laughing at him and cruelly didn't answer him.

* * *

Coulson was there when he next woke up, sitting in the chair next to the bed, filling out paperwork. He probably should have asked an important question that pertained to his health and status as a field operative, or maybe the something concerning the full out assault on a SHIELD base; instead the first words that came tumbling out of his mouth were: "Where's Tasha?"

She's on a mission." he informed matter-of-factly without looking up.

"She's _what_?" Clint sat up abruptly in outrage, keen on telling Coulson exactly what he thought of Natasha being sent out on a mission without him. Unfortunately his body betrayed him and his wounds made themselves known, causing him to sink back, gasping in pain.

Coulson finished whatever it was he was writing before acknowledging him. "She's a big girl Clint, she can take care of herself. She's been doing this work much longer than you."

"I _know_ that." he huffed. "I just-" he stopped, realizing how much he sounded like a bratty child who'd had his favorite toy taken away. He sighed. She and Coulson were the closest things he had to best friends. He didn't have a hard time being friendly with people, but it was hard to let people get close and get to know him. The real him, not the mask he wore for the world.

Coulson looked at him with raised eyebrows and a knowing glint in his eyes. Early on, Clint had been really bad at keeping his distance. He let things get close and personal, and it almost destroyed him. He'd learned to keep at arm's length and check his emotions the hard way.

There was a little kid, couldn't have been more than ten. Clint had been on a job in Spain, and got caught up in a game of soccer (or football rather, as the kid was constantly reminding him) while he was supposed to be doing surveillance. Later, when the job had gone south and he was running for his life, the kid got caught in the crossfire. He'd seen Clint out his window, and ran out to try and help, stupid and brave as only a young boy with a big heart and a misguided sense of adventure could be.

"It was never a permanent arrangement. When you brought her in, you were the only one she was comfortable around and no one else trusted her. While there she's still got some detractors, Fury thinks she's more than proved herself." Coulson's voice was carefully neutral. While he'd warmed to Natasha a bit after working with her, often lamenting that Clint wasn't half as professional as her, he still did not entirely approve of the amount of faith and trust that both Clint and Fury put in her.

"Besides" he added, "As soon as you were stable and moved here to Germany, she _asked_ for an assignment." Clint looked up sharply. "Fury was all too happy to give it to her."

She hadn't wanted to hang around while he was potentially benched for a couple of months. It stung. He couldn't help feeling like she'd abandoned him.

"Who's she working with?" Who would she actually _agree_ to work with? Spies, as a general rule, had trust issues, but Natasha took the cake.

"No one. It's a solo mission." Coulson supplied. "Only Fury knows where."

Now, Clint knew that Natasha could more than handle herself. He knew how strong she was, how resourceful and clever she could be. But that knowledge didn't help the knot of worry that settled in his gut at the idea of her alone with no one to watch her back.

* * *

You'll get some Clint and Natasha interaction in the next chapter. I promise…BUT only if you review! *insert maniacal laughter*


	27. To See You Smile

Holy crap this story is getting long…

I changed this chapter several times, and I think I'm finally happy with it. Hope you all enjoy it because that's what really matters. :)

* * *

He managed to steal some pens from various nursing staff and had made a game of launching them across the room and embedding them in the wall to make a smiley face. Needless to say the staff was not happy with him and had started to mind their writing utensils more.

Now, he contemplated his flimsy plastic fork that came with his unappetizing dinner. On a whim he launched it at the wall. It hit the wall in the correct place, but bounced uselessly off and clattered to the floor.

He huffed and flopped back on his bed, grunting in discomfort as it jostled his wounds. He'd been in the Military Hospital in Germany for over a week. Coulson was too busy dealing with the aftermath of the attack on the base in Budapest to be around much. So it was usually just him and the nursing staff and so boring. He just wanted to pound his head against a wall.

He had not, in fact, missed Christmas, but he did end up spending it in the hospital. Needless to say, he was not happy about it. Natasha was probably at some fancy party eating caviar and drinking expensive champagne while every male in the room fell over themselves to try and please her. Not to mention the added excitement of being on an op.

She'd never admit it, but Clint was pretty sure she genuinely enjoyed the thrill of the chase. She didn't really like being the honey trap all the time, with sleazy men drooling all over her, but she enjoyed running a con.

He'd seen her pose as a shrewd arms dealer once. It took her less than a week to convince a South American drug lord that his closest friends were trying to kill him and she was his only friend. She had a knack for winding people up and stepping back and watching them destroy their own lives.

When she was in the middle of a fight, she'd get this devious little smile on her face. She liked to let her opponent think they had the upper hand, and then neatly turn the tables on them, smiling smugly while they tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

In the last year, he'd become an expert in the rare phenomena of Natasha's different smiles. Not the kind she put on for a mission, but the genuine article, the actual proof that Red Room had not been successful in completely striping her of all feeling. They were usually brief, and near undetectable; a small tug at the corner of her mouth. If you didn't know what you were looking for, you'd easily miss it.

After a mission if they had time and weren't in any danger, they'd go out to eat before they had to be at the extraction point. Sometimes it was dinner, sometimes brunch, most often it was a late night snack from where ever they could find that was still open. She had this small, joyful smile when she was munching on something she truly enjoyed. She eats slowly, savoring every last bit.

His favorite he discovered by complete accident. He introduced to coffee once, he couldn't believe she had never had it before. He had her hooked imeadiately. She wouldn't drink the crap he made though; it had to be a latte or a cappuccino from a cafe. She was terribly picky, a bit if a snob really.

When it was right though, she's sit there by a window, sipping it and staring off into space; he often wondered if she realized she allowed herself smile while enjoying her perfect cup of coffee. Not the small half hidden smile that you have to be looking for to find, but a full one glowing smile of pure delight. It was really quite charming and endearing. Who knew a Russian assassin could be genuinely charming and endearing? The first time he saw it, he couldn't help staring.

But he definitely was not sitting in his lumpy hospital bed flipping through cable channels and daydreaming of a pretty red head with a sweet smile. Hell no. She_ left_ him. She chose to occupy herself with some exciting espionage, leaving him bored out of his mind and forced to eat disgusting yellow jello and questionable meatloaf alone on_ Christmas_!

He hoped she had to trudge through a mile of thick black mud to get to her extraction. It'd serve her right!

Stupid Natasha, going on a mission without him. She was probably having her favorite cup of coffee right now. Clutching the mug in both hands and inhaling the pleasant aroma; then smiling out the window wistfully while she leisurely drank it. _Without_ him.

He stared up at the ceiling and fumed. What a lousy way to spend Christmas.

She found him like that. Arms crossed as he stared grumpily white tiles. He looked like a little boy about to throw a temper tantrum.

"Pouting are we?"

He jumped at her voice, and sat up quickly to gape at her disbelievingly. His shock turned into a bright smile that made her stomach leap. Had anyone ever been that happy to see her? His smile then scrunched up into a scowled and he threw himself back on his bed and rolled over, presenting his back to her.

Clint Barton: actual nine year old. She resisted the urge to laugh at him, and made her way around the bed to sit in the chair there. He scowled at her again and rolled over again so he could ignore her. no doubt trying to bait her. He just liked the attention; wanted her to beg and plead for him to talk to her. Well, She wasn't going to play that game, so she directed her attention out the window.

As soon as she got back and reported to Coulson, he'd ordered her to the hospital to visit the stir crazy archer, muttering something about "sharing in his pain."

He huffed dramatically, but she continued to ignore him. He huffed again, louder this time. Receiving no reaction he rolled over to face her and stared intently at her. She kept her gaze fixed on the tree just outside the window, casually resting her chin on her palm.

"Well?" he said expectantly.

"Well _what_?"

"Aren't you going to apologize?"

"Apologize? For _what_?" she finally looked at him, and found him staring her down like a miscreant child.

"For _leaving_ me here in this prison! I've been going out of my mind with boredom! And it's all _your _fault."

She rolled her eyes at him. Yep. There it was. She never would have allowed herself to do that once upon a time. She would have seen the reaction coming a mile away and suppressed it without a thought. What was it about him that made her lose control like that? She didn't like it.

She clenched her jaw, and schooled her face into a mask of indifference. He seemed to pick up on the shift in her mood immediately and an awkward silence stretched out between them.

"What's wrong?" he asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"What is wrong?" he repeats himself slowly, pointedly. He frowns at her, searching her eyes intently. "Something is off, what is it?"

"You're imagining things." She rolls her eyes again and directs her gaze back out the window because it's safer to focus on the tree outside than to meet his intense gaze.

"How'd your mission go?"

"It went fine. Easy in. Easy out. Nothing special."

"Where'd you go? What'd you have to do?"

"I was in London touching base with one of Fury's contact in some large crime family. What's with the _interrogation_?" She finally breaks and looks at him, intending to pin him with an annoyed glare. Her annoyance fizzles out, however, as she takes him in. The concern in his grey eyes is almost tangible. She swallows, uncomfortable and uncertain.

"I just…I thought after what happened in Budapest you'd want some R&R. but instead you request a mission. I woke up and you were just gone." He sounds almost hurt, like she'd violated his trust in some way.

Trust. Why would he trust her at all? He really shouldn't. She's just not trustworthy material. Doesn't he know that?

She steals herself, "It's my job." She manages to say it nonchalantly.

"Bullshit." He's frowning again and she feeling like he's staring directly into her soul.

"Tell me what's wrong." He pleads desperate for her to let him back in, but he can practically see her shut down.

She schools her features and gives him a sardonic smile, like someone who is humoring a small child.

"You should rest, I'll go." She stands up briskly and makes for the door.

"Natasha." She ignores him. "Tasha!" his voice is pleading, but she doesn't even pause.

Like hell he's going to let her just walk away.

Without thinking, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stands, leaning heavily on the bed. Taking a steadying breath, he pushes away, intent on following her and dragging her back, but his legs give out beneath him.

He didn't hit the floor though, because she was there in an instant to catch him. Carefully lifting him back into bed.

"You're an Idiot." She chided softly.

"It's part of my charm." He replied, unexpectedly breathless from the short exertion.

She laughed quietly, a ghost of a smile on her lips as she looked away and avoided his gaze once again.

"Get some rest." Her hand found his to give it a gentle squeeze and she leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his forehead. It surprised him; she'd never done anything like that before. She froze as she realized what she'd done, surprised as well. He could see her withdrawing again pulling back. She pulled back sharply and turned to leave again.

He caught her wrist, preventing her escape.

"Tasha." He entreated.

"What?" she sighed, looking back at him with tired eyes.

"Stay? Please? At least for a little while. I promise I'll try not to be annoying."

Her lips quirked up minutely and he could tell she was biting her cheek to keep from smiling more. Where's a good cappuccino when you need one? He doubted the hospital coffee cart would be up to her snobbish standards.

Finally, she heaved a sigh of defeat and plopped down next to him on the bed. At his urging, she sat back against the pillows and swung her legs up on to the bed. He smiled triumphantly. He pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently. He held it against his heart as they sat in silence, tracing circles on the back of her hand.

He had for a few moments at least. He figured he better not push her at the moment. Whatever she was going through, it wouldn't do any good to try and force it out of her. He found she was like quick sand, the more you fight, the harder it is to get anything out of her. Better to move slowly and coax it out of her gently.

"Tasha." He whispered, breaking the silence.

"hmm?"

"You're my best friend. You know that right?"

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't answer. They didn't speak, but it didn't bother him, neither of them were big on talking when they didn't have to. He was content to just lay there next to her in companionable silence.

He didn't know how long they sat there together but at some point he leaned against her shoulder and fell asleep. When he woke, she was gone once again.

* * *

Kay, hope you guys liked this chapter, I know the last one was quite an abrupt change. I kind of planned of like that, because I feel Natasha would shut down abruptly and pull away in an attempt to protect herself.

No threats this time.

I'm not sure when I'll have time to write the next chapter, this next week is going to be crazy. But after that is spring break, so I will definitely have time then.

Please let me know what you thought. Love it, hate it (hopefully you don't) I love to hear from you guys!


	28. Learn to let go

I everybody! Thanks so much for hanging in there. I know the wait for this chapter was a long one.

Alright, so I am dealing with a LOT of stuff on this chapter. I think I did an okay job of it, but y'all get to be the judges.

Hope you like it :)

* * *

Natasha doesn't sleep all that much, so naturally people assume that she suffers from horrific nightmares. Comes with the territory.

In truth, she doesn't have a hard time sleeping. When she was younger, sure; the things she'd seen as a young girl were enough to give anyone nightmares. After a while though, skin gets thick and walls become impenetrable. Regret can be exhausting. What's done is done. She learned to put it behind her, to bury where it can never be found again.

She'd be damned of if she was going to allow the red in her ledger keep her from getting the rest she needed to do her job effectively.

Sleep and work she could handle. It was the in between moments that she couldn't seem to take any more; the part where she was supposed to "live her own life" as Fury told her. It was being left alone with her own thoughts and idle hands that got to her.

After Budapest, Fury quickly had her transferred to New York, under his direct command. Coulson and Barton had followed shortly after Barton's release from the Hospital. She had been surprised that the World Security Council that headed SHILED hadn't been calling for her head. Surely they saw her as a liability, though she wouldn't be surprise of Fury simply told them to go fuck themselves.

In fact, no one breathed a word to her about the possibility of her involvement in the attack. The only one who had come close was Coulson; she'd seen it in his eyes the day of the attack.

Bile rose in her throat at the thought of it. Barton wrapping himself around her, the shuddering of his body against hers, his warm blood spilling over her hands and on the ground…

_You're my best friend._

"Ms. Romanov?" Agent Hill's voice cut through her thoughts, snapping her attention back to the present.

_Fuck. So much for not dwelling on regrets._

"Yes?" she made her voice even, meeting Hill's gaze calmly.

"You have two weeks leave. Get some rest. You are dismissed." Hill looked annoyed at having to repeat herself. Zoning out during a debriefing, worse, she was caught red handed by her superior. She'd definitely been spending too much time with Barton.

She opened her mouth the protest, the down time would drive her crazy, but Fury cut her off. "Every field agent gets two weeks mandatory leave every six months. You are long overdue. Be glad I'm not making you take an entire month. _Dismissed_." His tone allowed for no argument, so she gave him a curt nod and left.

_Damn._

Not two steps out the door, she was ambushed by an over grown nine-year-old with blond hair, purple converse, and an over excited grin. This was the last thing she needed.

* * *

This may be the most dangerous mission he'd ever undertaken to date, but he was determined to see it through.

_Commencing__: Operation Lemur. _

Natasha had recently been taking as many missions as she was allowed and avoided him like the plague. He'd taken to sneaking up on her and then forcing her into a card game or _something_. He'd coax her into forgetting that she was trying her darnedest pretend she didn't care.

She was driving him up a fucking wall. One moment she was completely pleasant and joking with him and everything was as good between them as it ever had been. Then she'd do a complete one-eighty, shut down, and run away. And it was getting worse instead of better. She reminded him of that annoyingly catchy song that all the kids were singing a few years back.

He decided she needed a change of scenery. Almost _three months_ he'd been dealing with this. Well, the buck stops here.

He bribed/threatened Sitwell into divulging when Natasha would get in and was waiting for her outside the conference room. She'd been up all night and probably wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep away the rest of the day. It might count as fighting dirty, and a tiny bit cruel, but he pounced on her immediately. If she was tired, she couldn't fight back as hard. Besides, the worst thing you could do for jet lag was go to sleep right away, right?

She barely managed to stifle a groan when she laid eyes on him, which made him grin.

"Barton-" it was always fucking Barton with her these days, he was getting sick of it.

"Come on Tasha! It's Ten o'clock in the morning! And it a beautiful day outside!" his bright smile and chipper tone was met with a less than enthusiastic frown. Before she could manage to muster a glare, he grabbed her by the arm, dragging her toward the parking garage.

"Barton, where-"

"We're going out; it's about time I showed you around the Big Apple. Also, I have a bet going with some of the newbies as to whether or not you will turn to ash in direct sunlight."

She didn't look amused at all…like he said- this may be the most dangerous mission he'd ever undertaken. A tired and grouchy Tasha was potentially a very dangerous have-no-mercy-take-no-prisoners-Tasha. Hopefully, if he got her out around lots of people and cute little children, she would refrain from killing him in an especially brutal way.

_Then again…_ He took in her uninviting scowl that she wan't even trying to hide. _This might back fire…_

"Would you at least let me grab a shower and get changed first?" She ground out through clench teeth.

He stopped for a moment to take in her black cat suit. "Why? What wrong with what you have on?" he smiled innocently.

_Sheesh…If looks could kill…_

"Alright fine," he conceded and changed direction toward the dormitories, never releasing her from his grasp.

Natasha took her sweet time digging out her room key and getting open the door. He pushed into her small room and plopped down on her bed; not risking that she might shut the door on him and lock him out. He looked at her expectantly. She scowled and gathered a change of clothes, slamming the bathroom door behind her with more force than necessary.

While he waited, he flipped through a novel that was on her night stand that appeared to be…French maybe? Twenty minutes later she still had not reappeared, so he decided to pound on the door to encourage her to hurry up.

"Come on Tasha! We don't have all da-"

The door opened to reveal an irritated Russian with dripping red hair.

_Barton, you idiot! This is a terrible idea! No way you will live to see tomorrow._

Well, too late to turn back now. Smiling with more confidence than he felt, he tossed the book over his shoulder, earning a glare, and yanked her once more toward the parking garage. She scowled the entire way there, but didn't resist. That was a good sign right?

* * *

An hour later, Natasha found herself being lead through the Bronx Zoo by the enthusiastic archer, who apparently thought it was fun to caper around in forty degree weather looking at caged animals.

He had the audacity to look at her in confusion as she stood there shivering in just jeans and a t-shirt.

"Are you cold? Why didn't you bring a jacket silly?"

_Really? unbelievable._

"Well, maybe if someone hadn't dragged me out of my room, right out of the shower, without a word as to where we were going. Let alone give me the chance to _grab_ a jacket." She fumed at him. She had the decency to look at least a little sheepish, but she had to walk away to keep from decking him. "dammit Barton! Was it really too much to ask to for a little peace and quiet?"

He came up behind her, startling her slightly, and settled his jacket around her shoulders, still warm from his body. She tensed as he stepped into her space and gently rubbed hands his along her arms to warm her up.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice that made all of her anger vanish. _Damn, how does he do that?_ "I thought this would be fun and relaxing, and I just think you deserve a little fun."

"Come on," he steered her toward an indoor exhibit. "Let's go inside for a little while, get warmed up and then we can go." He sounded utterly dejected, and it felt like a dagger in the chest. This was a first. No matter how many time she had rebuffed him or rudely pushed him away, he'd come back again with a smile and his winning charm all the way, completely undeterred.

How many times in the last three months had she wished he would just give up? Stop trying to be her friend and just let her do her job. She just wanted to do her job and not get attached. Attachments get messy. She just wanted him to give up the claim he thought he had on her and leave her be.

They wandered through a jungle exhibit in uncomfortable silence, avoiding each other's gaze.

Clint seemed to have given up trying to get her excited about the animals, but it didn't stop him from looking around. He was still tense, glancing uncertainly at her from time to time, but he'd find an animal he liked and stare at it with a stupid little smile on his face. In front of the alligators, he got into an animated conversation with a little boy.

Natasha allowed herself to smile slightly at the sight of a six-year-old educating a world weary assassin about the differences between an alligator and a crocodile. Clint asked questions, indulging the kid, who excitedly spouted off all the information he had ever learned about the topic. Clint looked up at her and his grin grew even broader.

_Shit. _

She quickly schooled her expression and looked away in an attempt to look indifferent, but the damage was already done. She could practically see the spark of hope reignite behind his eyes. The kid's dad finally pulled him away and Clint was at her side in an instant, clasping her hand in his and pulling her, more gently this time, along with him to the next exhibit.

"Hey look at these!" he gave her that puppy dog smile, and steered her toward an entire wall of spiders. Natasha stopped short and pulled back.

_Gross. _

She fucking hated spiders. She could deal with them if she had to, but no way in hell was she going to _voluntarily_ stare at the creepy little devils. Noticing her hesitation, Clint smiled widely.

"Really Tasha? You're scared of _spiders_?" he looked positively gleeful to discover this little bit of information.

"I'm not _scared_ of them Barton. I just find them disgusting." She scowled.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he pounced on her, grabbing her around the waist and half carried her toward the nearest caged spider.

_Fucking asshole._

Refusing to the girl who squeals and squirms to escape an unpleasant fate, she didn't resist overly much. Clint held her firmly and rested his chin on her shoulder to see around her, watching the disgusting creature with rapt fascination. Off to their side, an older couple smiled at them, the woman leaning over to comment on "how cute of a couple" they made.

She was going to _kill _him.

"Look Tasha!" Clint's childlike excitement drew her attention back to spider.

It's funny how the smallest thing can drudge up all the crap you've like to keep buried, like seeing a little black and red spider in a glass box catch an unfortunate bug in its web. It wrapped up its prize to save for later and she suddenly couldn't breathe; as if she were the one wrapped up tightly in the spider's silk.

cold, dead eyes staring back at her.

Papa…no_. Ivan_ handing her back over to the Red Room.

That little girl, screaming and crying as flames licked at her skin.

Weiss's choking on air as his filled with blood.

_Clint… _

The hot air of the fake rain forest was suddenly suffocating. Fighting back a sudden, unexpected panic, she broke Clint's hold on her and fled.

* * *

_Dammit Barton!_

She had been completely fine, had even been smiling a little. Well…In truth she had been scowling, but he was pretty sure it was just to hide a smile. She could be so damn stubborn.

Just when he was thinking he could get used to hold the pretty red head in his arms more often, she went stiff as a board. Next thing he knew he had an elbow in his gut and she was gone.

He found her outside in a deserted area, bent over and gasping desperately for breath. He approached her cautiously, taking slow deliberate steps, doubting himself. This had been a terrible idea. He should have just left her be. Let he catch up on her sleep and then bug her ion the morning.

"Tasha?"

She glanced up at him, her face a mixture of panic, confusion, and pain. The kind of pain he didn't think she knew how to deal with. Tears streamed down her face and she choked on broken sobs that she tried to suppress by holding her breath, only to have them break free like a wave breaking against a rock, shaking her entire body.

He'd been waiting for her to break, but he hadn't expected it to be quite like this. Maybe a quiet moment of sadness where she opened up to him, like she did when she gave him dancing lessons; or at least for her to stop acting like their friendship was more of an annoyance and liability rather than something that was beneficial and was actually something she needed and counted on. Everyone had their breaking point though; bottle things up inside long enough and it's bound to explode eventually. Natasha no doubt had a lifetime worth of hurt and regret pent up, and was now surrounded for the first time in her life by people who didn't see it as a weakness to actually acknowledge emotions.

It was too much. She didn't know how to cope. She had never had to before.

Instinctively, he stepped in close to take her in his arms, addressing her in a low smooth voice. "It's okay Tasha, shhh-"

"_Don't-"_ she pulled back sharply, taking a deep breath in an attempt to regain composure. "-treat me like a_ child_." She fumed through clenched teeth, still fighting desperately to regain control. She turned her back to him, wiping furiously at the wetness on her cheeks and growling in frustration.

"Just let it out," he gestured with his hands, "just flow like…uh..a river." Through all her turmoil she still managed to give him a wry look, letting him know exactly what she thought of his "flow like a river" bullshit.

She turned on heel and walked briskly past him down the empty path, rolling her shoulders and taking deep breaths in an attempt to shake off the hysteria. He followed behind her, intent on coaching her though the ordeal.

"This is good, just get it out. Yell. Scream. Whatever." She growled in frustration. "Will it help is I cried with you." There's that look again. "You lost a friend Tasha-"

"Stop calling me that!"

"We lost a friend. It's okay to be upset. It's natural. Not dealing with it is unhealthy. You can't do that to yourself Tasha! You gotta let go of it sometime."

She snarled ferociously, and swung at him. He evaded her, and ran to catch up with her once again as she plowed on down the path, going nowhere in particular.

"Leave me alone!"

"Not a chance!"

She growled, whirling on him and knocking him to the ground with a vicious blow to his sternum. He was technically all healed up from his wounds, although he wasn't in fighting shape quite yet, and he might have played up his pain a little bit, clutching at his chest in feigned pain; but Natasha gasped down at him in shock as she realized what she'd done.

She was by his side in an instant, kneeling over him with her hand on his cheek and eyes full of concern.

"Clint?"

He couldn't help the triumphant grin that spread across his face. She gave him a confused, he eye shining beautifully from tears and her cheeks red from the cold and crying. He couldn't help it, he pulled her down to kiss her, holding her firmly against him, and then quickly releasing her and bracing for the inevitable indignant blow. It was totally worth it.

Instead, she took in a shaky breath; her face hovering just over his she searched his eyes intently, as if she wasn't sure what to do.

Confident now that she wasn't doing to hit him, he sat up fully to cup her face in his hand. She froze at his touch "Tasha." He sighed, barely audible.

Just when he thought she was going to pull away and shut down once more, she sank into him to bury her face in his shoulder and cry.

On the drive back, she fell asleep in the passenger seat, wrapped up in his SHIELD issued jacket, her hand firmly clasped his, and a soft serene smile playing at her lips.

* * *

Alright, so there you have it.

Let me know what you think! I think I'm just going to leave it here. There might be an Epilogue, which to be honest will probably be shameless Clintasha fluff, but I really can't think of where else to take it. I tried to focus more on the journey of the characters and their relationship with each other more than anything else and I think I got them where I intended them to end up for this story.


	29. Epilogue

Hey guys! Long time no see! I promised you an epilogue of sort so here we go…though I'm not sure that is counts as an epilogue so much as lots of Clintasha fun. I'm gonna say its maybe a year-year and a half after the last chapter…I really need to write out a time line…I mean what? Of course I know exactly what I'm doing and totally not flying by the seat of my pants…. : )

I've got two stories planned right now. One is going to be a lot like Strays (which you should go read if you haven't yet just saying) and just explore their relationship through a series of vignettes. The other is going to be more of an action adventure story.

So here we go…

Rough hands shoved Clint into the wall as soon as the door clicked shut behind them. It took all of his will power to fight his instinct that screamed to put his unexpected assailant down hard. He didn't exactly have the best information on the situation to go about shooting first and asking questions later.

_Thanks for that Tasha_

Before his brain could fully process the situation, hot lips pressed firmly against his, swallowing his cry of surprise. Bright blue eyes stared back at him in amusement and fluttered closed as a tongue pushed its way into his mouth. An exaggerated moan followed.

The whole situation was completely ridiculous.

It was embarrassing. No doubt this was Natasha twisted revenge for the _incident_.

Rule #1 in the SHIELD survival handbook: Never ever,_ ever_, piss of a certain redheaded Russian Assassin.

_Fuck _

Rough hands yanked at his belt, pulling it undone.

_Oh God._

* * *

_Three weeks earlier…_

"I'm telling you, we have to angle it the other way."

Natasha didn't seem the type to be into interior decorating, but her humble apartment was slowing becoming a work of art. She didn't have much time between missions, but whatever time she did have was spent carefully sorting through paint chips and picking out furnishings.

He'd added a little addition as a house warming gift. His reward? Every time she found some new must have item, he was forced to help move it in.

Case in point.

"_oof_." The overstuffed sofa slipped from his grasp and sliding down the stairs to knock him off balance and made him to fall back a few feet into the wall of the stairwell; he only just managed to bring his feet up to stop the damn thing from squishing him.

"Why couldn't you have gotten an apartment in a building with an elevator?" he grumbled as he climbed to his feet, staring down at the offending couch with distain.

"Quit whining Barton, you're being such baby about this. Surely the mighty Hawkeye can manage the simple task of moving a couch. Regular people do this all the time."

"Yeah well, we're not regular people." She shot him an annoyed looked. Sighing, he hoisted up the _ridiculously_ heavy couch once again. "You could've gotten an apartment on the ground floor. Hell, even the second or third, but no, you have to get the top floor of a frickin eight story building!" He grunted dramatically as he readjusted his grip on the damned thing. She ignored him as she carefully guided the couch around the corner.

When all was said and done, Clint collapsed onto the plush couch as soon as it was in place, sighing in relief. Maybe it was just because he was tired, but the damn thing might just have been the most comfortable thing he had ever encountered. No wonder she had her heart set on the damn thing.

He looked up to find her scrutinizing its position in the room. Staring at the piece of furniture and then glancing around the room as if to find a better place for it. Clint rolled his eyes.

"Jeez Tasha, stop with the Martha Stewart bullshit and sit the hell down! The couch is fine where it is."

"Martha Stewart?"

"You don't kn-you know what, never mind, it doesn't matter. Get over here." He reached out and pulled her down onto the couch. "Come enjoy the spoils of my hard labor."

She settled against the armrest, and then after only a moment's hesitation, stretched out her legs to drape them across his lap. He smiled broadly at her as she visibly relaxed, stretching her arms above her head and arching her back against the armrest. She sighed in contentment, closing her eyes with a relaxed, barely visible smile gracing her features.

Silence stretched out between them as they sat there comfortably in each other's company. He laid a hand on her knee to trace circles along her skin. She watched him though hooded eyes for a minute before allowing them to drift shut.

Moving a couch and then spending a lazy afternoon relaxing on said couch was probably the most normal thing they had ever done together. For a short moment in time Clint could pretend they were just a regular couple quibbling over little details of life.

He smiled lazily at her, and as if she could sense it, the barest of smiles tugged at her lips. He couldn't help it; he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She tensed up immediately, snapping her eyes open and drawing in a deep breathe.

He pulled back slightly, giving her a little room, but not leaving her space entirely. He met he gaze purposefully, asking permission to do it again. She stared at him for brief moment, taking in his proximity. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her as he realized he'd simply surprised her; it wasn't often he could take her so completely off guard.

Before she could conjure up a respectable glare, he stole her lips once more, kissing her soundly and trailing his hand down her neck. She hummed against his lips, relaxing against him. He felt her fingers thread through his hair, scraping lightly across his scalp and smiled happily against her mouth.

He shifed down slightly, wrapped an arm around her waist and rested his head on her chest, pillowed against her breast. It was the sappy kind of thing that people did in romantic movies, but he closed his eyes anyways to listen the steady drum of her heart.

Now this; _this_ was the most comfortable place in the world. He drifted off, lulled to sleep by the gentle caress of her fingers though his hair and down his neck. He could definitely get used to this.

He woke a few hours later, just as the afternoon sun was set low in the sky and casting an orange glow thought the window and causing Natasha's hair to shine like golden fire.

Shaking himself out of a daze, he extricated himself carefully from her embrace, trying and failing at not waking her. He made his way to the small kitchen. Natasha sat up to watch him check her cupboards and fridge for something edible, rubbing sleepily at her eyes.

"Jesus woman, you know there's such a thing as a grocery store? You don't have to live off of crappy Chinese food."

She shrugged dismissively. Standing up gracefully, as if she were the queen of England rising from her hrone, she left him alone for a few moments as she disappeared in to the next room.

That was when it caught his eye. Shiny and expensive looking.

_Of _course_ she would have one of these. The little espresso snob. _

So he set about to make her the best damn cup of coffee she had ever tasted, figuring it shouldn't be too hard because she's the one who picked out the coffee and the fancy machine should help.

Things when downhill from there…

* * *

Clint weaved his way through the smoky room to the bar where all types of unsavory people mingled, smoking, drinking, and gambling. He found a spot at the bar, ordered a drink, and casually scanned the room while he sipped his beer.

His sharp eyes found her leaning over a pool table to line up a shot and his stomach gave a little leap. He hadn't seen her in a few weeks, and last time they'd been in the same room, she'd been so mad he thought she might actually kill him.

She got put on a longer assignment and he hadn't even gotten the chance to say goodbye. Then, out of the blue, she contacted Coulson to request assistance. She hadn't specified, just said she needed another pair of boots on the ground and asked specifically for Clint.

He couldn't help the burst of pride and hope that welled up in his chest at the thought. She was asking for help, _his _helped. For Natasha, that couldn't have come easy. Maybe she wasn't angry with his anymore. He had offered to buy her a new cappuccino machine or whatever the hell it was called, of her choosing after all. Maybe she'd cooled down enough to accept the offer.

She pouted as she missed her shot. A beast of a man lifted the stick from her and made some chauvinistic remark as he slapped her behind. She gave the guy a coy smile, but Clint knew she probably would rather slam his face in the nearest hard surface.

She leaned in close to the behemoth just as he pulled back to take his shot. He faltered as she whispered something particularly dirty into ear, and sent the cue ball flying off the table. Electric blue heels, skinny jeans, leather halter top, and extremely kissable lips, the poor bustards didn't stand a chance.

He watched as she easily mopped up and collected her bounty. She caught sight of him and a Cheshire grin spread across her face. An honest to God, light up the eyes, smile; she practically _beamed _at him.

Thinking back on it later, he really should have known better.

She sashayed her way over to him, the smile never leaving her face.

"Hello darling," she practically purred as she kissed each of his cheeks and leaned in close, pressing her body into his side. God help him, but the thought crossed his mind that maybe she already had this job all wrapped up. Maybe she'd forgiven him for the debacle in her apartment a couple of weeks ago, and maybe she just wanted to drag him into the back room and…_you know_….He would totally be okay with that.

Focus Clint

He cleared his throat thickly and leaned in to whisper in her ear. "So, sweetheart, what do you need form me?"

"Oh_ honeybun_," she smiled almost wickedly, "I just need you to be extra charming and clever." Then she pinched his fucking cheek.

What the hell?

Before he could ask her, she waved the behemoth over. The guy came thundering over, sloshing a large beer stein and laughing heartily.

"Vaughn, this is my friend I was telling you about." She gave Clint a quick peck on the cheek and a playful wink and then left him alone with the monster of a man.

There was an awkward pause as they sized each other up. Clint put his game face on. He was here to make some kind of business deal maybe? She could've at least given him _something _to go on.

"Why don't we take this somewhere more private?" He asked, behemoth…Vaughn, who nodded in agreement and led him to a back room. He threw a confused look at Natasha as he passed her. She raked he eyes down his body and then back up to meet his gaze and raise her eyebrows pointedly.

He had a bad feeling about this….

Rough hands shoved Clint into the wall as soon as the door clicked shut behind them…

* * *

"I hate you," Clint mumbled from behind his tooth brush as he scrubbed out his mouth for the umteenth time. "That was just plain cruel." Spit. "The worst part is that you didn't even need me to be a distraction at all!"

Natasha lounged on the hotel bed, grinning like a fucking Cheshire cat. She wasn't even trying to hide it. Normally genuine smile from her was enough to turn his insides to mush, but he fought back the feeling, remembering that he'd just about been _molested _because of her.

"Nonsense, I did need him out of the way. Inconveniently I wasn't quite his type. You were crucial to the entire operation. I could possibly have pulled it off without you. I knew you could handle yourself."

He glowered at her, trying to convey the intensity of his anger and indignation. She merely laughed at him.

"You look like a grumpy kitten."

He growled, eliciting another _giggle_ from the nefarious assassin, and spit one final time into the sink. With a huff he stormed over to the other bed and plopped down, presenting her with his back.

Not a moment later the bed dipped behind him as she crawled onto it behind him. She leaned over him, letting her hair fall into his face.

"Now, I know you aren't _really_ that mad at me." Her voice was soft and her lips teased around the shell of his ear, sending a delicious shiver down his spine. Intent on pouting for a little longer at least, he pulled away and buried his head under a pillow.

"Fine," she laughed and the bed moved as she stood up, "have it your way." She left him to brood in peace. _Finally._

A few minutes later, something light landed on his back, and to his shame he jumped in surprise. He sat up to find out what it exactly Natasha felt she needed to throw at him and something else nailed him right in the face. He stared down dumfounded at the lacy article of clothing. He looked up just in time to see Natasha slip into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar in invitation.

At the sound of the shower coming on and the curtain being pulled closed, he completely forgot why he was upset. Leaping up from the bed he hopped from foot to foot, pulling off his boots and socks and shed the rest of his cloths in record time.

He stepped into the shower behind her, wrapping her in his arms and nuzzling the smooth skin of her neck.

"Is this your way of saying 'I'm sorry'?" he moved his lips along her shoulder.

"Ha!" she scoffed, "You totally deserved it."

She turned quickly in his arms and swallowed up his protest with an aggressive kiss, and then proceeded to make him forget all his woes.

Well…there you have it.

As always please be so kind as to leave a review letting me know all your thoughts and feelings.(on the story that is…don't go weeping about you boyfriend or anything, you can do that in my Tumblr Ask Box)

Cheers.


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